Give and Take
by fyrelightpyre
Summary: Gideon thought he had it all:  a wife, a brother , a career, yet he didn't realise he missed something along the way.      Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

He hit the pavement. It cut him deeper. Air rushed from his lungs, but he forced himself to get up. The sun peeked through the clouds, but it wasn't going to win today with the projected forecast. Sleet rained down, which wasn't a problem, really, except for the black ice. Flashing lights blinded him, and his cry got stuck in his throat. The driver swerved, slamming on the brakes and answered him with a familiar hand gesture. Gideon got to his knees, feeling like an old man, and guided his hand along the brick wall for support.

He wasn't far from home, which was a good thing, because he would be safe there, but it also meant endless questions waited for him at the doorstep. His bloody t-shirt and ripped jeans didn't exactly give him the cover he needed; the wife usually bought his lie about staying at the office. With all the chaos brewing in this madness, that one didn't fall in line with the usual cliché. He worked for the Department of International Cooperation, and he'd lived for months buried underneath at least three demanding cases. He clutched a soaked carrier bag in his left hand, but he doubted it would save him from a well deserved lecture. These fools jumped on his heels when he stepped out of the sweetshop.

Gideon ran up the rickety staircase and pounded on the fifth door on the third floor. The trusty alarm, the dog, went off like a charm. He cursed.

A rough voice answered him and someone unhooked the deadbolt. Fabian, his twin brother, looked him up and down as he stepped over the threshold. Gideon took him by the arm.

"What happened?" Fabian locked the door and helped him onto the couch. Gideon moved his hand, taking deep breaths, showing his wound. Gideon's arm was covered in blood. "Lean back."

"I think I'm going to be sick," moaned Gideon, closing his eyes. It did little to block out the pain. He screamed when Fabian touched the handle of the sharp blade. There were droplets on the wooden floor. He let a trail from the alleyway. The police, if they didn't pass this one off as a wounded, forgotten animal, had another mysterious case on their hands. "I hate her."

"Who? Bellatrix?" Fabian took his wand out of his back pocket. "Yeah, she got you good this time, didn't she? I'd shut up, though, before you wake the whole neighbourhood. Want me to get it out?"

"No, no," Gideon panted. "She got me when I turned round to Apparate."

"You can't leave it in there." Fabian ripped his shirt opened and walked over to the wardrobe. He opened the drawer and returned with a small box of potion bottles and a few bandages. "Yeah, she got you good, make no mistake. Right, so, we're going to wait till you pass out before patching you up? Is that the plan?"

Gideon admitted it sounded stupid in his head. Of course, his brother wasn't exactly helping things with his sarcasm, either. Fabian nodded and rubbed his hands together. He didn't bother to count or give the slightest warning. It might have been a small move. Well, Gideon couldn't really judge because he wasn't the one inflicting the pain and ripping it out. He clenched his teeth and waited for it. Fabian made a quick movement with his wand and the thing shot into his hand.

"Watch your French, young man." Fabian set the blade on the table and rolled his eyes when Gideon didn't catch the joke. "You don't realise you do it anymore, eh? Lean on me."

No, he didn't notice that he switched tongues, although it pleased him that this finally fell into place. His job didn't necessarily require foreign languages. Gideon learned within months of joining the department how lost he'd be without them, though. After years, he finally mastered French. This worked in his favour, especially against Annette, who was born and bred in Calais. She was his tutor when he decided to cross the border and immerse himself in the culture. One thing led to another, as the old story goes, and he got a ring on her finger.

"The swear words are all I'd want to know, honestly," said Fabian, cleaning the wound with alcohol before he started taping him up. He handled him a small crystal vial. "It's Blood Replenishing Potion. Come on, it won't hurt you, man, take it like a shot."

Gideon preferred skipping medicines and potions at all costs. It went down easily. "You're a drunkard."

"A good man's a happy drunk," Fabian pointed out, sitting on the edge of the table. "Didn't Muriel's third husband say that? The one who went off with the barmaid?"

"Oh, yeah. Don't make me laugh. It hurts." He reached into the soaked bag and slipped a black jewellery box into his pocket. "I've got a delivery for Dumbledore."

"Strawberries and lemons? Oh, right, that. Oh, hello," said Fabian cheerfully, changing the subject with a drop of a hat. He looked over his shoulder and tossed the fruit in the air. "These are for you."

Gideon's wife reached out and caught them. They hadn't heard her sneak into the room, nor did they know how long she'd been listening. Her dark tasselled hair fell down her back. She had a rich olive tone to hers kin and dark eyes. Annette had pulled Gideon's old house robe over her nightgown and stepped into her slippers. Pip, the black Labrador, finally decided to shut his trap and lost interest in them. He lay down at the foot of the stairs, and Annette nearly tripped over him because he refused to move. She caught herself and grabbed the edge of the wall.

"That damn dog's going to kill you," Fabian called after her as she slipped into the kitchen. "You can stop eavesdropping now because we're not talking about you anymore! I just brewed a fresh pot."

"You really shouldn't taunt her like that anymore." Gideon smiled at her when she walked back into the sitting room and handed him a steaming mug. She lifted his legs and sat down beside him. "We didn't mean to wake you. Or, rather, I didn't mean to rouse Pip."

"Doesn't matter," she said, setting her mug on the table. She left the teabag in to soak in the favour. "I'm sure you boys have got a thrilling tale."

"What makes you say that?" Gideon pulled the crocheted throw off the back of the couch and draped it over his body so he could hide the evidence. He feigned innocence, but it was sure the pain leaked through his grimace.

"Delayed," Fabian sighed. He made a point of throwing every mistake back in his face. "And you're the one who's been married for nine years?"

"Ten," Annette corrected him. The dog sauntered over and she scratched him behind the ears. "I'm ready when you are. What was it? You ran into the wall?"

"Not funny," said Gideon. "Do we really have to go through this? I can't tell you."

"Or won't," she said softly.

"Hey, Annie, that's not fair," said Fabian, serious for the first time. "Dumbledore said no. He'd rather keep you out of this, so just drop it."

"And your grandparents would raise hell," Gideon added, "and neither you nor the professor needs that right now."

Annette came from good stock, despite the fact that she didn't have drop of magical blood running through her veins. Well, she did, seeing as her brothers were both successful wizards in their own respects. Auguste, who was nearly twenty years her senior, worked in the same field as Gideon whilst David passed his time with historical archives. Her grandfather, Monsieur René Marceau, held his post as one of the best professors Beauxbatons Academy ever had; he swore he'd teach till he dropped dead. His wife, Jacqueline, was a renowned alchemist and a close friend of Professor Dumbledore. They chose not to frown on the fact that their granddaughter was different and it rarely came across in conversation.

She rolled her eyes. "Here we go."

"What?" Gideon started to think that it may have been better if he'd passed out.

"I'm not a child, Gideon!" She glared at Fabian, seeking out an ally. He usually jumped to her defence, and Gideon hadn't figured that one out. "Don't look at me like that, please, you're insulting me."

"How am I not supposed to worry?" he retorted, his patience wearing thin. "Do you want to lose another one?"

Tears flooded her eyes. He wished he could take it back. "Annette, Annie, I – I didn't mean it."

She said nothing. The dog followed her up the stairs.

He lay down, punched a pillow and rolled onto his side. Sleep evaded him again.

center ****/center

Gideon took the silent treatment in stride and ate his words. He deserved it this time, make no mistake. He went to work round nine, running on strong coffee. He thought things over, ignoring the fact that it all blended together. None of it made sense. He slipped up, yes, but it wasn't a rushed lie, and hiding their honest feelings only shielded them from disappointment. There were nights when he lay in bed wondering why they even tried anymore. Sometimes, although it killed him to admit it, he hated visiting his sister. Avoided it, honestly, because it just reminded him of what he didn't have.

He went through the paces of a regular workday, putting his mind on other matters, especially treaty specifications that he'd been fighting tooth and nail for, trading notes among Britain, France and Spain. Last week, he jumped from Alexandria, to Marseilles, to Barcelona to Calais to no avail. The whole nitpicking over just about nothing drove him mad. Personally, if it were up to Gideon, he'd throw his hands up and forget the whole thing because it wasn't worth this hell. A gang of curse breakers, none of whom claimed responsibility for this fiasco, couldn't account for piles of missing gold.

So, naturally, the case fell into his lap.

"So, what have we got?" Mr. Davies asked. His department head always opened the floor with that question. Unfortunately, he also had the annoying habit of sneaking up on people and reading over their shoulder. Gideon spilled coffee down the front of his robes.

"A mess," said Gideon, waving the damp parchment.

"A translated, organised mess?" Mr. Davies rarely accepted defeat and focused on the next step.

"i Je parle du français/i," Gideon said. Mr. Davies merely glared at him and crossed his arms. Perhaps he didn't catch his words, which worked in Gideon's favour because he added, "I'm on it."

He got nowhere. Around six-thirty that evening, he gave up altogether and put his head down on his desk. The place was nearly empty.

"What are you doing?"

"Go away." He really didn't want to talk about it, and Fabian popped in like this all the time whenever he wanted. He worked with the Department of Magical Transportation, the easier track, in Gideon's opinion. "Kill me."

"Later," Fabian laughed, sitting on his desk and reading through a roll of parchment. "Let's go to the pub and knock up a remedy for that headache. What's this?"

"Nothing." Gideon sat up and held out his hand. "Give me that."

"What the hell?" His face fell. "Adoption? Does Annette know you're looking into this?"

"That is none of your business," Gideon sighed, snatching it out of his hand and whacking his brother on the side of the head with it. Sometimes, he felt as though there were three people in this marriage. "No, I'm not looking into it, per se, I'm thinking about it. Not a word, you hear me?"

"Where is it?"

"Calais." Gideon locked his drawers and pulled on his travelling cloak.

"Ah," he sighed, catching on, "so this so-called 'business trip' of yours had a little detour."

"Not a detour," said Gideon. He rolled his eyes and shooed him out the fire. He confessed when they got into the elevator and headed down to the Atrium. "Yeah, okay, whatever, I met with a young couple."

"Gideon."

"Gideon. You sound like Molly," Gideon pointed out,mimicking him. He followed Fabian into the nearest fireplace and stepped out into the sweetshop. There weren't many patrons in the middle of the week. He used this connection whenever Fabian wanted to stop for a night cap. He nodded to the plump manager and failed to dodge out of the place before he got roped into small talk. "How's Ambrosius, Mrs. Flume?"

"Good, good." She waved them over to the counter and placed a scoop in the drawer. "Annette left about an hour ago. She wanted to stay longer, you know, but she looked tired. It bothers me that she insists on staying on her feet so long. She looks good, though. Is she eating?"

Fabian snorted. "She eats all the time."

"Yeah, well, that's Annie," said Gideon, drumming his fingers on the glass counter and pointing at a colourful parcel. "Could I have those, please?"

"Are these for her?" Mrs. Flume took out the parcel, doubled the order, and scribbled a quick note. She slid it beneath the ribbon and waved a hand at his gold. "No, this one's on me, dear. Besides, I'll think you'll be making plenty runs here soon enough. Would you like anything else?"

"No, thank you," he said. There was no point in arguing with her.

"Not at all," she said, hurrying to hold the door open for them. "Happy Anniversary."

Gideon turned the corner before her parting set in. He froze. "Well, shit."

Fabian walked ahead of him and entered the Hog's Head. It was a shabby place, and he preferred the Leaky Cauldron because he enjoyed watching the people. Fabian usually dragged him here after Order meetings because he couldn't stand drinking alone. The floors looked as though they hadn't been cleaned in ages. They came here for the atmosphere, but Aberforth provided good company, too, whatever he felt up to it. Most of the time, he just muttered darkly under his breath at unsatisfied patrons while cleaning the dirtiest tankards Gideon had ever laid eyes upon. Far from scaring them off with a string of insults, Gideon found the barman's rants downright hilarious.

"Today's not your day, my friend," said Fabian, holding in his laughter. He took up a barstool and called to the old man, who had just slammed down two tankards. "Two pints of your strongest mead when you get the chance, please, Aberforth. This man needs to drown his troubles."

The barman ignored his request at first, but he eventually came over to them. "What have you fools done this time?"

"Oh, nothing, he just married." Fabian's drink went up his nose as he gave over to a giggling fit. "You should see your face."

"I told you to stay away from that girl," Aberforth grunted, wiping his damp bar and offering them some food, "but does anyone listen to me? No. She's your problem, and I suggest you deal with it. She's a Marceau, idiot!"

He turned to a couple of old hags sitting at the end of the bar.

What's really going on?" asked Fabian, sliding the shepherd's pie towards him; they often shared a dish on these outings to save a few Galleons.

"She won't lie with me," he said, frowning at his expression. Fabian looked close to laughter, yet it felt strange throwing this onto the table. "She barely even looks at me and hardly complains about work or other things anymore. Where's she when I go to bed? Annie's on the couch. It's a shame the dog gets closer to her than I do, let me tell you."

"Are you sure she's not ..." Fabian changed his stance mid-sentence. "This is Annie, never mind. So, you haven't ..."

"Well, there was one night," Gideon said shortly, waving his hand," but the kids were over. Percy wouldn't sleep, so she ended up with him on the floor. I'd hate to say it, mate, but these idiots who think marriage is based on love are severely mistaken, you know? And her grandfather keeps dropping hints left and right about training his great- grandkids at Beauxbatons. What are we supposed to say?"

Helpful as ever, Aberforth wandered back over and grunted, "Ask him."

Frustrated, Gideon spun round and expected to see some drunken fool rambling off nonsense. A thin old man dressed in silk robes sat at a table reading a newspaper by the light of a stubby candle. His glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, so he peered above then. The news of the day meant little to him. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a bandage underneath. He didn't seem fussed by it, though, and went on about his day. He puffed merrily on his pipe and tapped his foot on a crate.

Gideon's face went white. "Tell me he didn't just hear all of this."

"I'm not deaf, boy," said the man, folding the paper along its creases. He glanced at Aberforth and put Galleons on the table. "One more to top us off, sir. Where's your brother?"

"Not here," said Aberforth. Gideon thought he ignored the man's request. The old man left the counter after announcing the last call and the patrons dwindled one by one. He locked the place before he slipped back into his inventory and came out with an unopened bottle of fine wine, some glasses, and random leftovers he scavenged from his pantry. He started up the staircase before he called, "Are you fools coming or not? Grab that mead on the counter, Prewett."

"Yes." Fabian jumped to his feet, snatched up the tankards and beer before bounding after them. "You know what makes a drink priceless? When it's free, it's better."

"Who said that?" Aberforth placed the tray on a table before he finally rested his feet. He tapped his temple with his long finger. "It's all up here on a running tab. I want it paid before you're dead."

Albus Dumbledore sat with a tall woman wore a red dress. Her dark hair was wrapped in a twist, and exposed her neck. Dangling rubies hung from her ears and chained pendant rested on her breast, complimenting the simple ensemble well. Jacqueline Luce-Marceau was getting on in years, of course, but many missed the mark at guessing her age. She didn't act old, either, which is why Gideon enjoyed her company. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands flew in the air, illustrating her rapid French.

"He's a lucky man," Fabian muttered under his breath. "Well, there's your future glimpse of Annette."

Gideon laughed and sat across from them. Jacqueline continued on with her string, merely patting he husband on the cheek and taking his hand before driving her point home.

"You learn your place after sixty years," René said simply.

"Stop it." Jacqueline punched him lightly in the arm as Dumbledore greeted them all and pulled out of the debate. Gideon watched them lace their fingers together and admired the small gestures. He felt a pang of jealousy, wishing he had that. Her voice sounded raspy and slow. "Where were you all day?"

"Visiting markets," said Rene, shrugging. "While you two passed the evening discuss this, I met a warlock, swapped a few lies with zat toothless barman, and took a wrong turn, and got run off by an appraiser called Borgin."

Aberforth snorted. He waved a hand at the mess of parchment and old texts laid out on his table. "What's all this, Albus?"

"My welcoming gift," said Jacqueline, scribbling a note on a piece of parchment. "Damn Flamel to 'ell."

"Lovely, ma dame," Dumbledore sighed, pulling himself out of his private thoughts. "I promise you it's here. He'd see this as a game and put the answer in plain sight."

"Why not just tell us?" Jacqueline threw her hands up in frustration and started pacing around the small room. "Flamel sends encrypted messages and throws us to ze dogs!"

"He's not ..." Dumbledore dropped his defence when she checked him with an icy glare. "This is Nicolas playing his finest, Jacqueline. Patience."

Gideon didn't understand a word of this madness, and he thought it was best not to go asking a thousand questions. He picked up a few things here and there. He knew that Dumbledore used to work for Flamel, for instance, and the two of them had grown as friends. Jacqueline also worked for the legend, though she stepped in years later, and apparently caught grief from Flamel because she was the wrong gender. Of course, his wife, Pernelle, never caught a word of this from his lips. He enlisted Jacqueline as a helper, not an apprentice, when his wife started delving into other studies and turned from the art. Jacqueline earned her keep after a while. Although they worked at the legend's side, the two of them usually spent their time together trying to solve unanswered questions and helping each other with research projects.

Gideon might not understand, but when the professor asked to deliver a parcel, he did. He assumed Flamel sent things strangely because he didn't want to be tracked. He reached in his pocket and handed the black jewellery box to Professor Dumbledore.

"Thank you." The professor covered the jewellery box with his hand when he opened it so only Jacqueline and René caught a glimpse of it. "Does this look familiar?"

Jacqueline covered her mouth and spoke so fast Gideon didn't even try to understand her.

"It's on loan," he said, snapping the box closed and smiling at her expression," but I figured you'd be interested in studying its properties with me. You are his Jacqueline, after all."

"Damn straight." Jacqueline looked up when the twins burst out laughing. She looked abashed, for she had forgotten the present company, or perhaps she didn't realise the others had joined them.

"What is it?" Fabian hissed, intrigued. Gideon hadn't the foggiest idea.

"Nothing, nothing, Fabian," said Dumbledore, slipping it into his pocket.

"We were supposed to meet you tomorrow," said Jacqueline, hugging both of the boys. "You ruined our surprise."

Gideon pecked her on the cheek. "Really? Well, show up later, and I'll act surprised."

Damn." Fabian snapped his fingers. He made himself at home and listened to their tales. "So, this is your first trip to Scotland?"

"Togezzer," said Jacqueline, laughing when Aberforth handed her a fine bottle of red wine. He actually let her hug him, which shocked the Prewett brothers. "I can't accept zis, kind sir."

"I owe you," he said, showing her its label. "You're one of his idiots I actually like on a regular basis."

"Ze favourite idiot?" Jacqueline laughed softly, taking the compliment. "I keep ze fool out of your 'air, zat's why. It's all about metals and chemistry."

"Zat's ze key," said René, through a mouthful of bread. "Shut 'er up. Why else do we spend our 'oliday 'ere? 'E takes 'er off my hands and deals with 'er madness. Not my problem."

"René!" Jacqueline slapped him playfully on the back. "You want to be alone for three days?"

"Are you offering, Madame?"

Dumbledore smiled at them. Gideon imagined this was quite entertaining sitting back and watching these two hashing it out with each other. He'd seen the couple before, of course, and it all sounded uneasy at first, but they went on and on. Fabian, who had always rather uneasy about relationships, seeing as he was on his third or fourth round with some girl, scooted down and kept out of the fire. Gideon learned that he shared a wedding anniversary with them, too. After a couple pints, he lightened up and told them he had never seen an elderly couple, especially folks of their stature act so down to earth.

"You don't last this long on love notes and fluffy nonsense," said René. "Jacqueline's mad, I tell you, till I catch 'er on the rebound."

"It's the mercury and the wine," said Dumbledore, leaning forward to toast him.

Jacqueline pulled a face and joined in the laughter. She pointed her wand at the bottle, and its cork flew out. She poured herself a generous measure and started on a second glass. Her face was a little red, and she breathed heavier. Dumbledore and Gideon were the only ones who kept to one pint. "Aberforth likes me."

"Oh, zat story?" said Rene, nodding at Fabian. He was gone. "I'm surprised you don't know. Well, Alexis and Marianne, 'is wife, A Muggle, you know, died in a car crash a month after she was born. So, we took in the boys ...Auguste and David and... " He couldn't place the name.

"Annette?" Dumbledore supplied.

"Yeah, right," said René, bobbing his head. He glanced at Gideon and Fabian nearly fell off the couch laughing. "She's your wife, or 'is? I can't tell. Anyway, we 'ad a 'ell of a legal battle to get ze kids."

Gideon heard this before, of course, and knew this is why René placed such faith in his family. He had already paid his time with raising his daughter, and he shouldered this responsibility. Gideon had no idea how Jacqueline managed it with him, for they both knee-deep in demanding careers. Any thought of retirement evaporated with a blink of an eye, and they experienced parenthood all over again. Auguste shared the story with Gideon one night; he had been sixteen when his parents passed and offered his grandparents a hand. Personally, Gideon didn't where they found the strength to carry the burden and shift their lives.

Jacqueline put a hand on her husband's knee, and the glass slipped from her twitching hand. She spoke as if she were trapped in a vacuum, slowly getting louder. "René? René!"

Next moment, she fell onto the floor and screamed out in pain. Her limbs flayed out. Her husband froze, but Dumbledore knelt down and locked her face in his hands. Instinctively, Gideon gripped Jacqueline's arms so she couldn't hurt herself. Fabian ran out of the room and darted out of the pub. He went for help. Finally, Dumbledore picked her up and ran out into the night. Gideon and René stayed on his hells and entered the hospital wing minutes later. The matron rushed over, but Jacqueline twitched at the slightest touch.

"Please get Horace, Poppy," said Dumbledore, worry creeping into his voice. He forced Jacqueline to look at him and her hair. "Jacqueline, Jacqueline, Jacqui, look at me!"

She locked her long fingers round his wrists. She opened her mouth and found she couldn't speak. This only scared her more.

Aberforth burst through the doors with Madam Pomfrey and Horace Slughorn. René stood off to the side, trying not to get in the way, yet trapped in his panic at the same time. He battled the two, pacing back and forth and staring at the floor. The potions master burst with questions. He knew who this two were, of course, and he seemed more focused on interrogating the couple and flattering them. When Dumbledore raised his voice, the old man held out his hand.

"Well, I've got this," said Slughorn, prying the woman's jaws open and forcing a kidney bean down her throat. Jacqueline gasped for air and give over to a coughing fit. Slughorn, who had gone pale, seemed pleased with himself, and held out his hand. "Lovely to meet you, Madame Marceau. I don't know if you understand English ..."

"Let her breathe," Madam Promfrey demanded as she stepped forward and shoved the fat professor. She yanked the curtains round herself and her patient.

Dumbledore and Gideon stepped back. Aberforth handed Professor Slughorn the bottle without getting an explanation. It had been laced, or so they believed, with a colourless poison. He raised it to his nose, wafting if as if he attended a wine tasting, and detected nothing. It was almost like the Cruciatus Curse in liquid form. Madam Promfrey had given her a sleeping draught, told the others she'd be out for a few hours, and walked into her office.

"Well?" René demanded. "How does a laced bottle end up in a pub? Who would do this?"

"René," Dumbledore interceded before his brother had time to jump to his defence. He spoke in a calm, collected manner. "I assure you no one in this room meant to harm Jacqueline."

"Hell of a story that would be," sighed Aberforth. "I'd rather not be known as the one who murdered Madame Jacqueline Luce-Marceau, if you catch my meaning."

Nobody laughed. Gideon collapsed in a chair and rubbed his eyes. He had no idea how he'd managed to last this long. He supposed it was the adrenaline, and that faded fast. Fabian left, too, saying he'd tell Annette what happened. There'd be no welcoming party because their spirits were drained. Gideon had no idea how much time passed, but he jumped. He had just got comfortable and started to feel a familiar falling sensation of drifting off to sleep.

"Go home." René clapped hand on his shoulder. He inhaled deeply on his pipe and shrugged into his travelling cloak. "You're not doing us any good just sitting there. She's resting now. Care to walk with me?"

center****/center

They walked through the castle in silence. It felt strange to be back at this place. It offered him a distraction, and on Dumbledore's request, he gave the man a tour. Gideon swore all these schools glued themselves to codes of secrecy and whatnot. They did. He remembered reading that somewhere, but he supposed that the professor make the suggestion to get them to focus on something else. Of course, after curfew, many of the places were locked and guarded.

"I don't think they let you smoke in here," he said, watching the old man finger his pipe.

"Oh. What a shame." René admired the armoured suits flanking the oak doors. "They hold classes in the dungeons?"

"Yes."

Gideon pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped out into the chilly night. He really wasn't on good terms with the old man. They shared Annette, and they had a few conversations, but it was mainly caked in small talk sandwiched between the occasional witty remarks. And distractions popped up: a book, the family, a project. René took a silver lighter out of his pocket and lit the pipe.

"Your school rules don't apply to me," he said, waving his wand and catching a lantern, "nor do zey, I think, stand for you anymore."

Gideon sputtered, shocked. "B-but you're a professor!"

"Yes, and you're a translator."

"Well, I'm more than that, really," said Gideon, taking the jab with good grace. René hardly troubled himself to grasp the lengths Gideon, Auguste and countless others went through to keep worries at bay. "I drive your grandson mad for one thing, and that ought to count for something, don't you think?"

"Touché," he conceded. They walked till he stepped into a noisy chamber with a dusty floor and admired the ancient clogs. "A clock tower? Come in here, boy, I want to steal secrets."

"I used to study here when the library started feeling claustrophobic," said Gideon, sitting on the dusty floor. "It drives Annie nuts; she says something's wrong with me and tells me to just get on the damn lift."

"Are you really?" René mused. "She sounds like Jacqueline. You're her fool and she got stuck with you by the luck of ze shitty draw?"

She'd said that the other day. At the time, he took it as a rather witty comeback, but he was right. It sounded like Jacqueline.

"You want to talk about something?"

"No, no," said Gideon. René gave him such a piercing look that he just laid his worries out on the table. "This doesn't leave here, right? What if there's nothing there after all this time?"

"After all this time it's an embarrassment when nothing but ze bare bones remain?"

"That's not ..." he faltered. That's exactly what he meant. What was he doing sharing this with her grandfather? After sixty years, he figured this man survived through just about anything imaginable, and yet something about this just didn't feel right. "Well, yeah."

"You're afraid of her?" René studied his face and took another stab at the issue. "No, no, I watch you, boy, you're uneasy about the child. You're losing your mind over it."

Gideon bowed his head. "Am I wrong for saying it was a mistake? The first time, as much as it kills me to say it, I felt relief beyond measure because we simply weren't ready. I want to break the damn pram in the cupboard. I don't think I can go through this again, honestly, it's a cycle, and it's driving me into the ground. I love her, I do, René, I swear it."

Why was he pleading for this old man favour? Wasn't he supposed to be able to tell his wife anything? None of it made sense. For some reason he didn't quite understand, it just felt good laying it all out on the table. René couldn't make him feel any worse, for he played the remorse through his head when he twisted the scenario. Exhaustion took him. He wiped his tears away and muttered a rushed apology as he failed to marshal his private thoughts.

"I feel it, too." Gideon took a deep breath when René walked over and patted him on the back. I'm starting to wonder if it's worth it and whether our love ..."

"Isn't purely mechanical?" René offered, pulling him out of a rough spot. "Good question. The kid's not dead, Gideon, there's still hope."

Something about his smile told Gideon he guessed about the adoption.

"Auguste speaks with loose lips," said René, "so, yeah, I heard about the orphanage visit. May I share something with you? I count you as one of my boys, you know, even though you're English. I'll try not to hold that against you or anything. Dumbledore finds this bit of trivia hilarious."

"Sure."

"Our daughter, Marianne, was a mistake."

"What?"

"One kid for as long as we've been together? You do ze math." René nodded. "Jacqueline nearly killed me, till she accepted my proposal. A happy mistake, mind you, because Marianne changed the way I viewed the world and her children gave us another shot. Looking back, we missed a lot with 'er, chasing after careers, and I regret it. I would've taken Marianne's seat zat night without question."

He, too, took a moment to gather himself.

"Auguste was seventeen, at the time, and David had just turned fifteen, so Annette was the only one, a small one," René exhaled, "and I despised 'er for ze longest time. She ruined all our retirement plans."

"She was a mistake, too?"

"Yeah, no shit." René surprised himself with his own laughter and wiped away his tears. "Ah, well, I've never figured out a secret to women."

"Everybody asks you," said Gideon.

"A child can't be a remedy to your life." René waved his pipe. "You need mending. A bandage only covers up ze mess till something creeps along and rips it off."

Gideon nodded, although he felt he missed something.

"Compromise." René offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. "When all seems lost, there's still hope. I read zat somewhere."


	2. Chapter 2

Small things mattered. Folks said that all the time; they ran the cliché into the ground. After ten years into a marriage, Gideon kicked himself for not taking this one to heart. Annette needn't be worshipped. He hated Valentine's Day with a passion. All the teddy bears and colourful candies made him cringe. No, this didn't spur from some awkward experience in his school days when he walked the corridors alone. Fabian, the funny Quidditch star, was thought to have something wrong with him if he didn't have some spaghetti legged, flaky blonde swinging from his arm back in those days. That was one of their conditions. An unspoken one, but Annette agreed that they wouldn't waste a Knut on some stupid commercial holiday. He didn't always like her, but he loved her. When she hadn't been expecting, he had made her coffee and toast. Nowadays, they settled for orange juice, or milk and whatever breakfast pleased her at the moment. He served up strange concoctions, no doubt.

So, with the deepest regret, Gideon stepped out on this 'holiday' putting his best foot forward as a gesture of his love. All right, so he came along with this madness as a work requirement, but nonetheless, he felt better saying he was here for her. Mr. Davies hosted a gala in the large office space. Overnight, the cubicles and the chaos disappeared and the place was transformed into a ballroom with crystal chandeliers and hundreds of fresh cut flowers. Waiters floated round the place, weaving through small glass tables and gliding through folks on the wooden dance floor. He amused himself with a private laugh. Perhaps he should point out the obvious flaw in this get-together: not every culture celebrated this fictional Saint Valentine, and they should file a public compliant outlawing all clichéd, flowery romance for the night.

He donned simple black dress robes with a rose in the button hole. Annette, who didn't get out of the fun, either, wore a shimmering strapless chiffon gown with a complementing shawl. If Gideon had been forced to attend and fight through his headache, he felt it only right she suffer through the social awkwardness right along with him. It wasn't long before she'd shed the heels for a pair of ballet slippers in her handbag and wrapped her hair into a twist. It was cool considering the cackling flames in the fireplaces and quick dropping temperature outside, yet she went by a completely different barometer these days. Light makeup touched her features and she wore diamonds nicked from her grandmother's collection. It was a business affair, essentially, dressed up as an elegant charade. Once they cut through the first helping of small talk, couples took to the floor.

"You look good in red," he said, taking her hand and laying the other on her waist as the music started. A quartet sang with background accompaniment on a raised platform. "How are you feeling?"

"I look like a plump cherry," she objected. They started out with a simple waltz, which was a good thing, because Annette only had to shuffle her feet. She laughed along with him when he chuckled by accident. "Yes, you stopped lying long ago. If it wasn't for you, I'd be wearing mismatched bedtime slippers under this drapery because I can't see my feet. You're a bad liar, Mr. Prewett."

"So I've been told," said Gideon, spinning her in and holding her close.

"Let's go to Calais for the weekend."

"Why?"

Gideon always felt suspicious when she asked these things out of the blue. i Two months/i, he thought, i and these random requests will fade with the mood swings /i. Annette wouldn't come right out and say it. He shared the same fear. When the kid arrived, not that he banked all his hopes on it yet, they were in for a rude awakening. Kids swallowed up their lives and their money because this was the trade off. Life fell into a boring routine: no travelling, no dates, and no sex. All right, perhaps the last one didn't hold, yet there was certainly less of it. He loved that about her. When they first got married, especially the first few years, she hardly turned him down. Arthur and Molly had Bill right after they tied the knot and they planned everything around the boys. They couldn't pack a bag on short notice and head for Paris or Barcelona.

"Don't you want to see Auguste?" she asked.

"I do. It's not the best time to go travelling."

"I feel fine!" Annette jumped to a defence quickly.

Gideon found his attention waned whenever she got like this. Something struck his fancy. He glanced round the place and recognised a few faces. To his surprise, Lucius Malfoy and his wife looked rather cosy chatting things up with the Junior Minister. He didn't know much about the man, really, so other than catching a few whispers of illegal activity, Gideon chose not to judge. Most of it, of course, came from Arthur, who despised the man to his very core. His wife, a pretty blonde thing, twirled round in flowing satin robes. Her soft curls framed her face. Every now and then, she'd toss back her head and laugh. Gideon held her for longer than a glance. In fact, he kept her eyes on him the entire time he swayed across the dance floor. When the song ended, he didn't move until Annette tugged his sleeve.

"Let's grab a table," she suggested, fanning herself with a hand. "Aren't you hot?"

"No, Annie, it's just you," he muttered as he offered her a seat. Mr. Davies, as usual, boomed with conversation and welcomed them without hesitation. He reeled off compliments for Annette, and she blushed, shook his hand and offered herself up as a patient listener.

Gideon, long conditioned to how this man hooked folks in, escaped to the toilet. He couldn't shake this feeling. All right, so checking out another woman didn't count as cheating in his book. He was suddenly overcome with the desire to do it again. Why did he always have to look? He had this beautiful woman on his arm. Gideon washed his hands and ran water over his face. It was the flu, this bug, it had to be. By tomorrow, he'd be a useless half-dead fool lying on the couch. He headed back towards the room, wiping his sweaty hands on his robes. He felt alone. He really, really did, and it wasn't the kid. They slept in separate rooms now and he was afraid of slipping into a comfortable routine of spending peaceful nights upstairs without her. A hand reached out for his and he took it.

He started to say her name, but she put a finger to his lips and led him into an empty broom closet. The door locked and his lips met hers. Her hands slid down and he gasped. He grabbed her wrist. It didn't stop her from burying her face in his neck. He knew by the feel of her that this wasn't his wife. No curves. No laughter. The woman made quick work of him and he touched her lips again and again, running his fingers through her soft hair.

"Ah," he said softly, licking the sweat off her neck. This woman was beautiful, intoxicatingly beautiful. The way her hands moved, Gideon felt this wasn't the first time Narcissa Malfoy had done this; the woman looked as though she got anyone she wanted. She made quick work of him. This was wrong, so wrong. "Stop."

"You don't mean that." She played with his ear as she whispered softly and pressed him against the wall. "It's a shame you're so weak. Tell me. Are you bored with her?"

"No." Gideon lost all conviction when she swayed her hips. He found it difficult to concentrate with that finger running down his chest. His mind exploded with these amazing scenes, things he never dreamed of with Annette. "I – I can't. You're beautiful, you know, and your husband wouldn't approve."

"What do you want?" She laughed when her robes slid off her flame and he spun her round. "Yes or no?"

Damn it all.

center *** /center

Gideon smoothed out his robes and stepped into the crowded lift. She wasn't there when he walked stepped back into the room. He didn't worry, though, because Annette had probably stepped out. He had missed Jacqueline's presentation. Whereas René Marceau ran by the clock of his academy, Jacqueline had gotten to the stage of her career where she picked her own hours and worked from her makeshift station in the basement. Her speeches usually carried an informal tone in front of the department where she openly discussed her ties with her fellows across the Channel and why the healthy cooperation and friendships strengthened the bonds between cultures. It was the reason he got dragged along tonight, and he'd missed the whole thing.

The golden grilles opened and witches and wizards departed through emerald green flames. Gideon glanced round the place and quickened his step when worries crept into his mind. She couldn't have left. No, Squibs were either escorted through the visitor's entrance or by another Ministry employee. She would not have gotten far because she had never been here before. A woman with dark tresses stood with her back turned to the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Gideon apologised for knocking into the tall black man as he raced past. Why was she talking to a stranger like that? The kid had an earring in one ear and looked as though he hadn't been out of school for more than a few years. Lily Evans and James Potter stood with them. Gideon sighed. He didn't receive the owl about the babysitters. Dumbledore set them up for security's sake, and Gideon couldn't help wondering this had little to do with the Jacqueline fiasco.

"Are you mad?" He took the woman by the arm. "You can't just walk round like that."

"Excuse me?" The woman spoke with a booming voice.

"Madam Bones," Gideon apologised, his ears reddening. "My apologies, it's just that I thought you were someone else."

"We haven't seen Annie, either," said James. They waved good night to Madam Bones and the tall kid.

Lily, too, scanned the Atrium and checked her watch. "The last I heard, she headed off to the bathroom; I thought she was with you because she ducked out in the middle of the speech. Maybe she got sick again."

"Yeah, well," said Gideon evenly, more angry with himself, though they presented an easy target. "Congratulations, whilst you were sipping wine and mingling with the big shots, you failed your first shadowing assignment. Did you enjoy the party?"

Dumbledore should have warned him as a courtesy gesture. They had expected him here tonight, yet things at the school delayed him. Gideon had really considered restoring his faith in the younger crowd. Benjy and Edgar seemed to think they were too inexperienced to handle important tasks. If anything, James Potter played the part by donning his finest dress robes and his girlfriend wore a satin gown. Gideon grew weary of all the careless mistakes. This is why people dropped like flies. The Death Eaters thrived on opportunity, which didn't exactly mean they were intelligent, yet they played the game well.

"Hey, mate, she's i_your_ wife/i," muttered James dejectedly. Gideon wanted to hit him. "Well, she is."

"Let's not do this," suggested Lily, stepping in between them. "Let's just find her. Where's Peter?"

"At the buffet?" James followed Gideon and asked random folks if they had seen Annette. "She's tiny. Well, not tiny, petite. She's kind of big, honestly, if you catch my meaning."

"She's expecting." Lily rolled her eyes. As they weaved through a crowd of old people and cleared their wands with Eric, she rounded on him. "If we have kids and you ever call me fat in public, you'll get it, Potter."

"Gideon!"

He spun round and cursed when he saw it was only Jacqueline. He kissed her on the cheek and put a hand over her shoulder. "My lady."

"Where's my Annie?" She spoke English for the others' benefit. "She looks beautiful."

"You haven't seen her?" It didn't come off as nonchalant as Gideon hoped.

"Not since the dinner, no." Jacqueline smiled at Lucius Malfoy as they passed, and she got nothing out of it. "Well, perhaps this is not for an old dame."

"I can't believe "You're i_the_ /iJacqueline Luce- Marceau." Lily smiled at her. Our friend, Remus, couldn't make it tonight, but he's so jealous."

"Perhaps he'll catch me round the Easter holiday." Jacqueline smirked at Gideon and took his arm. Come on, you didn't expect me to miss my great-granddaughter's birthday?"

He'd never understand why they all insisted it was a girl. He played no games, insisting he had no preference. Gideon had seen this happen time again time again. When they gave the baby a name, it made it real. Annette got happy and hopeful and started decorating again. Right now, all they had was the crib and the pram. He refused to get attached. The last time he did this, the adoption snatched all his hopes. The little curly-haired girl was so close to being his that he kept pictures of her in his wallet. Gideon tried not to discourage her, especially not with Fabian in tow, but it was hard to let go. The other day, Fabian announced a name; it was to be called Danielle Elisabeth Renée Marceau. René, who'd tossed his name in the hat ages ago, said it was high time one of these kids got landed with his damn name. It was unisex, after all, and Annette kept this promise. Either that or the old professor cornered his granddaughter because he craved another little girl and his boys had paid no heed to his request.

"Danielle." Jacqueline said the name slowly, grinning from ear to ear and clapping her hands together. "I'm so excited! Now, we've got a problem here, and I'm sure you've spotted it."

"Hogwarts or Beauxbatons?" Gideon put this to rest. "I care not. I'll let your husband and best friend battle over that when the time comes. Let's not get too hasty, though, let it get here first, yeah? Where the hell is she?"

He hated bureaucracies. Yes, Gideon recognised he spent his life behind a desk developing his own walls against foreign embassies, yet he hated when he was stonewalled against the rules of the game. So, when five hours passed, he finally alerted the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He knew their routine like the back of his hand. Although he honestly wanted to throw the recitation back into their faces, he didn't. Apparently, there was a twenty-four hour hold until any attention outside of the mere glance because the officers offered up the chance of the missing returning home. In the back of his head, Gideon felt this made perfect sense. Little kids 'ran away' all the time, only to return home because they ran out of snacks or forgot the way to grandma's house. Domestic disputes poured through the doors, too. A fed up partner would storm off, take some time to curse their lover to death and cool down. When people panicked, they jumped to the wrong, fantasised conclusion about anything.

Gideon put his face in his hands, realising he had just pointed out his mistake. What if she had seen them? No, as he played it back in his mind, he remembered he and Mrs. Malfoy left separately. Annette knew nothing, none of them needed to know a damn thing about it. In the midst of his worry, the woman's face floated into his thoughts and an eerie calm came over him. What had he done? He stood there enjoyed the private viewing as the night played through his mind. He wanted her.

"No." Gideon slammed his hands down and the young questioner looked confused. Embarrassed, Gideon shook his head, thanked him for his time, and left without another word. He took Jacqueline's hand and decided to retrace his steps because backtracking worked in his favour when following a parchment trail.

Jacqueline lost it. She walked faster than he. When Mad-Eye Moody climbed out of a nearby fireplace and brushed soot off his robes, she recognised his scarred face and went straight for him. Gideon dragged along behind her, pleading that she calm herself; the last thing they needed was a scene. Mad-Eye slowed down when he saw her, and Jacqueline begged that he look into the case. It wasn't his responsibility, and she apologised for overstepping boundaries.

"I remember you, yeah," he said roughly, stepping onto a lift, "but you have to go through the right people. Madame, and I see that you found him. Prewett deals with international affairs. He'll take care of you."

"She has dual citizenship," Gideon pointed out. "She's my wife, Mad-Eye."

Lily and James ran up to them and handed over a badge and a small beaded bag; the visitor's badge had been clipped on Annette's spaghetti straps. "We found it by the table, James announced. A torn red shawl was draped over his arm. "Women don't leave their things lying around, do they?"

Mad-Eye stuck his umbrella out and barred the door. "Get in."

They didn't say a word in the lift. Mad-Eye looked murderous. James should have kept his mouth shut because all these people focused their attention on them. What was the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Auror Office doing with some snooping kid? When they finally stepped out and dodged the stares, Mad-Eye whacked James in the back of the head and pushed open the heavy oak doors. They walked through the maze of cubicles and headed for the back.

"Don't just sit there, sir," Mad-Eye growled out of the side of his mouth as they passed Frank Longbottom.

The Auror jumped to his feet and followed them. He pulled a look of nonchalance, merely biting at another case as he followed them. Mad-Eye escorted them to the back and placed his wand on a set of brass scales. Just like Eric's contraption, the thing spit out a slip of parchment and a heavy oak door opened. Mad-Eye took his wand back and ushered them all inside. The place looked like a cold cell. There were two metal tables with cold chairs round them. Candles provided the only light. The walls, which were shielded with from outside noise, were caked in a brick whitewash. The place clearly hadn't received an update in some time. Gideon hadn't even done anything wrong, and he felt depression wash over him.

Mad-Eye and Frank sat at one side of the table. Frank waved his wand and caught a fresh roll of parchment and writing materials. They were dark circles underneath his eyes and he ran hand through his dark hair.

"Sit." Mad-Eye barked at them. "Just so we're clear, Prewett, if you ever try to overstep my department again, you'll be sorry." He looked round at the others. "If any of this leaves this room, we're going to have problems, you understand me? Keep your mouths shut. Potter?"

"Yes." James gave his promise, thinking he was being singled out to make a point. It took him a minute to realise he held the evidence, so he handed the articles over. Mad-Eye dropped the contents onto the table and sifted through its mundane contents. James, who couldn't help himself, picked up a sharp dagger. "Why would she carry this?"

"Defence." Mad-Eye read his confusion. "She's a Squib, boy, and it only makes sense these days."

James nodded.

"Good craftsmanship," said Mad-Eye appreciatively, examining the blade. He listened to their story, holding up a hand when he needed silence for a moment to piece the jumbled information together. Frank, meanwhile, lay the parchment over his knee and took notes. Mad-Eye ran a gnarled finger along it and showed the specks of dried blood. "Dumbledore probably suggested it. She might have cut herself with it. Light, this one. Do you have the set, Prewett?"

"No." Gideon didn't even know she had one.

"It was on the floor, and I picked it up," said Lily. "I put it back in the bag. I thought she'd dropped it."

"You say she was with Pettigrew last?" Mad-Eye went over the details and stared at Annette's heels.

"Yes." Lily had answered this question already.

There was a soft knock on the door. Mad-Eye, a man unaccustomed to being interrupted during investigations, rolled his eyes and sighed, "Come in, Kingsley."

The lock clicked. The young man who Gideon saw in the Atrium earlier kept the door cracked open. 'Professor Dumbledore's here."

"Let him in." Mad-Eye looked up when the Professor closed the door. "Don't you have a school to run?"

"Lily alerted me," said Dumbledore, sliding behind Jacqueline. He looked at Gideon and bought himself up to speed. "She didn't go home?"

"No."

"You didn't see her leave?"

"No."

"Where were you?" James asked slowly.

"Taking a piss," Gideon said shortly, annoyed they all turned towards him. The husband was always the first suspect. Why did Potter single him out like this? Hadn't he seen him and his wife on the dance floor? He looked at Dumbledore, ignoring Mad-Eye as he reeled off something about a worst case scenario. Dumbledore seemed to gather the gist of the scenario because he asked few questions. "What are you saying?"

"They took her." Mad-Eye repeated.

"She's a Squib," Gideon said, laughing off the very idea. "What would they want with her?"

"Alastor," Dumbledore warned him.

"That's girl's no ordinary Squib. No, no, why wouldn't they?" Mad-Eye crafted his reasoning. "She's quite the bargaining chip, Albus, as she is the granddaughter of, well, her." Mad-Eye pointed a gnarled finger at Jacqueline. "They know you're close friends; it's no secret. So, if they wanted something from you ... it's a good move."

Jacqueline shook her head, determined to not loose her composure. Dumbledore made to reach out for her shoulder, but she slapped his hand away. Lily and James looked shocked. She got to her feet and walked towards the door. Gideon understood she'd appeal to her husband. If this leaked out, the Order would be exposed and they had barely started with their plans. Jacqueline would not expose them intentionally. An international fiasco was the last headline any of them wanted to deal with at the moment. Jacqueline didn't understand Mad-Eye Moody that well, for she jumped at his first crazy suggestion.

"Jacqueline, please sit down." Dumbledore didn't move. "Alastor won't open the door until we've cleared this up."

"No. I said no. I didn't want a part in this," Jacqueline rounded on him. "Why is zat so hard for you to understand? Annette has no part in this madness. I asked you to keep her out of the Order, Albus, I begged you."

Gideon cleared his throat. "She didn't."

"You shut up or I'll make you," Jacqueline threatened him. Gideon didn't need telling twice and none of the others laughed. She turned back to Dumbledore. "You can't do zis anymore. You can't accept your people blindly because zey believe in a cause. What cause? How many of you have died already? Where is she?"

"I don't know, Jacqueline." Dumbledore laced the shawl through his fingers. Whether it was because he felt uncertain or he didn't want to frighten anyone, he kept his guesses private. "How much does she know, Gideon?"

"Nothing." He answered automatically until Dumbledore made him feel as though he was looking right through him. He amended the first response. "All, right, a little, whatever she's guessed with a little help ... enough."

"Damn you, fool!" Mad-Eye slammed his fist on the table and Gideon jumped back.

"Well, you try keeping things from your wife," Gideon said weakly, looking to Frank for support. "You find it's not that easy because they have their ways of weaselling things out into the open. What am I supposed to tell her? 'Sorry Annette, but you know those nights when I'm late coming home or spend the night in the 'office'? I'm having an affair.'"

Mad-Eye shrugged it off. "Works for me."

Gideon wondered if the man had ever really tried an honest attempt at holding onto a relationship. "It's a wonder you're not married."

Gideon had debated quitting the Order. Truthfully, it was slowly putting a weighty toll on his marriage. No man got a free pass to keep a secret life. He'd suffered through his share of silent treatment. Honestly, he was waiting on the day she'd throw down the cheating card. This would probably escalate his guilt. Gideon was furious. He, too, saw Professor Dumbledore as the target.

"I did as you asked, sir," he said, walking over to the door. "People don't like being kept in the dark and forgotten."

When he turned the knob, the door opened. Gideon headed straight for the fireplace. He wouldn't get anything done at work. How could he think of anything else? He stepped into the emerald green flames and ignored whoever called his name.

Seconds later, he climbed out of his own fireplace and stared round the empty sitting room. The sofa bed hadn't been made. Ever since Annette started having troubles making it upstairs, they slept on this creaky thing with an ancient mattress. It hadn't gotten that bad yet. She complained it was too hot up there, so they made any sacrifices to keep her happy. At any rate, he was closer to the pantry whenever she asked for a snack.

He spun round when Lily climbed out of his fireplace and brushed soot off her robes. James wasn't too far behind and looked round the room.

"Please leave me alone." Gideon didn't have the fight in him and walked in the kitchen to raid the wine cabinet. He returned a few minutes later with a cold bottle, a flannel, and a shot glass. Lily sat in a rocking chair and her boyfriend sat at her feet. Pip, who had been sleeping, sauntered over to the new faces. "You lot didn't do too well with following instructions in school, eh?"

"You don't need to be alone," said Lily, scratching Pip behind the ears. She pointed at the bottle. "Case in point."

"I'm thirty-five?" Gideon waited for her to check him. He lifted the bottle and watched the candlelight reflect through the green liquid. It burned when it went down and he pounded his chest. "It's a surprising sensation the first time."

"Is that absinthe?" asked James. He groaned when Lily kicked him and changed his tune. "I mean, you sure you want to drink that?"

"Get a glass, Potter."

"What? The man can't drink alone." James dodged Lily's glare and was back in a couple of minutes. Gideon scooted over to give him space and filled the glass halfway. "So, where'd you get this?"

"René. He offered it as a wedding gift." They toasted each other. "Don't breathe. Just take it like medicine."

"Right."

James's eyes watered and he gasped for air when he put the glass down. Lily snorted.

He'd much rather be sharing this with his brother-in-law, or yes, even the eccentric grandfather. They dropped the in-law nonsense a long time ago. Well, René said he'd settle for father-in-law if he must, yet reminding him of his age wounded him. Realistically, though, if either René or his loyal drinking buddy, Auguste, were working through this bottle, Gideon felt sure that his eyes would be burning from the alcohol thrown in his face. He settled for James. The kid didn't ask for a refill wasn't going for another shot any time soon. Really, it wasn't about the drink. Gideon desperately needed to focus on something else, anything else, as he worked on slipping into a guaranteed coma. His first time meeting this concoction was in Barcelona. It was rather warm, and the barman suggested something stronger than a good cold beer.

"I offered her a glass on our honeymoon," he said, speaking to nobody in particular. He jiggled the ice cubes in his glass. "It wasn't really a honeymoon, mind you, because we eloped to Calais. I couldn't cancel my business trip, so we just went with it. She enjoyed Barcelona, I think, and we sampled a healthy selection of drinks. You know what's interesting about absinthe? It plays with your mind, yes, but they were puzzled about it for the longest time."

Lily watched him rock back and forth on the edge of the bed. "Are you all right?"

"Miscarriages." Gideon lifted his index finger, started on his fifth or sixth shot, and nodded as if to prove his point. "Lots of miscarriages, which, apart from Foetal Alcohol Syndrome, is one of the reasons they advise expecting women not to drink. I believe that's why we lost the first one."

Lily bit her lip. She took a deep breath and struggled between telling him to shut up or continue with the story. "How many?"

Gideon poured another glass and held up his right hand.

"Oh." She stared at her hands. "I'm sorry."

"It stopped being sorry ages ago," spat Gideon. "At some point, it just ends up being plain stupid. Fucking stupid. You can't chase what you can't have because there's always something in the way. You stop living."

"You've had enough of that, mate." James took the bottle from him.

"Yeah, you're right." Gideon kicked his shoes off and laid back. James went back into the kitchen and Lily helped Gideon get into the bed. She fluffed his pillows and pulled the covers around him. "Thank you for ... whatever you're doing. You're a pretty girl."

"And you're drunk," she said, smiling at him and wiping his forehead with a cool flannel. "You're welcome, though. Get some rest."

Gideon closed his eyes. It had been years since he drank this much, and he knew he'd pay for it in the morning. The headache kicked in, and the pillows didn't soften the throbbing sensation in the back of his head. It was worth it. Eventually, the drink worked its magic, and he fell into a deep sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

After three days, Gideon started losing hope. He knew things about the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, even if he didn't know about the comings and goings. Too many people went missing these days, and there was no reason as to why he should be favoured and think that his loved one would rush to the head of the queue. In France, maybe, but even the Marceau family wasn't royalty; the fame rested on Jacqueline's and René's shoulders, and folks barely remembered their granddaughter's name. After a couple days, the case ran cold with little evidence because there were so many others who needed help.

Mad-Eye and Frank vowed not to let this one slip through the cracks. Frank had taken this one on as his personal project and worked on it night and day with the young man Gideon had met beside the Fountain of Magical Brethren. His name was Kingsley Shacklebolt and he showed an excellent promise. Gideon took full advantage of his accumulated leave. Tired of him lying around, Lily had pulled him out of the bed and tidied up the master bedroom after she'd forced him into the shower. In any case, Gideon had drained his house of drink and walked around the neighbourhood in a stupor. He left only to report to Ministry officials, and he continued to ignore the growing mountain of letters on the table.

He left the door unlocked and Lily took the spare key. She came in whenever it pleased her, which was all the time, and Gideon barely acknowledged her. Tonight, as usual, she hung her bag in the armoire and knocked up something for dinner.

"Your sister says this is your favourite," she said, placing a bowl of hot soup on the coffee table. She stirred it and placed chunks of fresh bread on a plate. "The tea will be done in a minute."

He pushed the plate away and left the spoon on the napkin.

"All right." She took the hint and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. She helped herself to the strawberries and froze when he stared at her. "Yes?"

"Those aren't yours," he said. "I don't want any of this."

"Gideon, you haven't eaten all day," she pointed out, "and you have to eat something because the drink is just going to ruin your liver."

"Fine." He picked up the dishes and snatched the plate away from her before he headed into the kitchen. She stared at him, speechless. Gideon tipped the plates into the sink and looked round for a bottle; there was nothing left in the cabinet. "I've got Chardonnay somewhere."

"I threw it out." Lily crossed her arms when he turned around to face her. "You've had enough. You need to get out of here. Shave. Read a book and go for a run. Something."

Gideon's patience ran out. "Leave."

"No." Lily grabbed the leash and hooked it on Pip's collar. "Come with me to get some fresh air."

"He's not my mutt," he said, glancing at the dog. "You can take him with you. Get out."

"No." Lily wrapped the leash around her wrist and Pip let out a low growl when Gideon approached. "Sit, buddy, Pip; sit down."

"He doesn't understand you," said Gideon coldly, reaching over the dog's head to grab the leash. Pip, who had always been protective around Annette, sunk his teeth into his arm. "Damn it, you fucking ... i_Non. Assis! Ici, Pip, Ici!_/i"

Pip sat down and walked towards him with his head down.

"He's nervous," said Lily. Gideon took the leash and walked over to the tap to clean his wound. He dressed it with a tap of his wand and pulled the leash. She took that as an invitation and followed them to the door. "I'll follow you."

"If you ever bite Maman, you're in trouble," he told the dog, grabbing a coat. The slender Labrador went off when they reached the door. "Pip, I will murder you."

The door opened and Lily smiled at René, who muttered hello and rounded on Gideon. "Sit."

"René," Gideon sighed and hurriedly prepared an excuse. "We're headed out ..."

His words evaporated when René's bony fist met his jaw. Gideon stepped back, surprised.

"I don't give a damn what you want." He glared at the dog, who shut up immediately. "My wife shows up at my school in the middle of the night, fucking 'ysterical, begging me to fix zis ..."

"René," said Gideon, massaging his jaw and sitting down with Lily.

"René, René!" The man was livid and took out his wand. "Where is she?"

"I..." His words melted in his throat.

"Annette Nadia Gabrielle Marceau, i ma petite fille/i!" René's voice rose an octave. "You've got about thirty seconds. Speak, boy!"

Gideon couldn't find any words.

"Sir," said Lily, shocked. "Lower your wand."

"What did I tell you?" René pointed his wand at an afghan, which shifted into sharp thorny vines and slithered itself around Gideon's wrists. Gideon's tongue twisted itself into a knot. Gideon threw his head back and gagged. "Keep her safe and honour her. Love her. You handed her over to the Death Eaters! Anything to push your treaty through, right? What say you and I have a little chat in the closet?"

Gideon thrashed his head around and gasped for air.

"Release him!" Lily ordered him. She, too, drew her wand. "Leave him alone!"

"Quiet, mademoiselle!" René rounded on her. "Do not tell me zis is your lover. I'll fucking break you."

Gideon thrashed round harder, and tears flooded his eyes. He dropped Lily's hand, panicked, and breathed sharply through his nose. When René approached him, he flinched and his heart raced. René had forced one of his grandsons, Auguste, into a tiny shower when the young man had denied him at school. Auguste had shouted that René wasn't his father and didn't have the right to order him, and René had responded by throwing him on the tile floor and blasting ice cold water down from the tap. Gideon didn't laugh when he'd heard this, though at the time, he didn't believe the old man got that angry. All doubt had evaporated.

"Oh, yes, you remember zat story," said René, his voice dangerously calm. "You don't like tight spaces, do you, boy? Well, I'm just going to let her brothers teach you a lesson."

Gideon gasped for air the second the man lowered his wand and released him the spell. "Thank you."

"Shut up." René took a lighter and a packet out of his robes. He flicked the lighter, lit a cigarette, and took a drag. "If I hurt you, I hurt Annette, and I won't do that."

Gideon watched him leaf through the evening paper.

"France stepped out of negotiations at the last hour?" René look mildly interested and shook his head. "Did you hear that? All that gold down the drain? Shame. Where's Auguste when you need him?"

"He signed," said Gideon hoarsely, glancing at his bag. "They all signed."

"Did they?" René pointed his wand at Gideon's bag and snatched it when it zoomed towards him. He dug through it and fished out three rolls of parchment with blue wax seals. The old professor smiled at Lily and walked towards the fireplace; the rolls slipped from his hands and the flames devoured the texts. "Sorry. I'll be more careful next time."

With that, he scratched the dog behind his ears and took his leave.

center ***/center

Gideon took things for sleep. Nothing too heavy, but it's the only thing that did the trick. Whenever he lay down at night, Gideon's mind raced with a thousand questions; the dog slept on Annette's side. Pip didn't like Gideon, yet he'd definitely picked up on the fact that Annette was no longer there. He lay around like a stubborn boulder until Lily arrived to take him for a walk and spend time with him. So, on nights like these, Gideon stared at the ceiling for hours until he got up and started drafting a proposal. When things got really bad, he fell back on good, old double translation; he drafted texts from French into English or vice versa to keep his mind sharp. Plus, the activity was dead boring, so, with any luck, he'd beat his brain into a deep slumber.

"I know I'm supposed to do this outside," he said, looking at the dog when he turned his head. Pip stared back at him with a blank expression, like he'd caught Gideon in the act. Gideon reached over and placed his cigarette in the ashtray lying on the bedside cabinet. "But she's not here, and you won't say anything, will you? We should toss Auguste over a bridge."

Earlier that evening, Gideon had been handed his fifth revision of the same, old negotiation. He'd been in the business for a while now and knew what he was doing. All in all, Gideon found that this was simply nitpicking, going over word for word, because none of them dared debate the figures. No, just as long as gold traded hands and everyone plastered their faces with these fake smiles, everything was fine. Ever since Gideon had showed up with nothing to give Mr. Davies, the heavy man had jumped down his throat and harped on him about everything. Gideon felt as though he shouldn't even bother with returning to work, but he had to push something through, despite the fact that the world saw it as a shitty draft.

Pip raised his head when there was a knock on the door and Gideon threw off the covers and peeked out the window. Rain pounded against the windows. Who would visit him at this time of night and in this weather? Gideon took the burning taper off the bedside cabinet and walked slowly downstairs, Pip following at his heels. The sofa bed was open, although nobody had slept there for a month now. Gideon thought that Fabian had perhaps forgotten his key. He was out on some assignment with the Order. When Gideon unhooked the deadbolt, he was surprised to see a thin woman with drenched blonde locks standing there.

He stepped aside and let her in without question.

"I probably shouldn't be here," she said, glancing around the room.

"You shouldn't," he agreed hoarsely. How did she know he lived here? Gideon ran a hand over his chin and took her travelling cloak. He waved his hand, offering her a seat, and hung her wet garments in the armoire. "Is there anything I can do for you, Madam?"

She shook her head. It took a moment for her to gather herself, (comma) before she struck up a conversation. She wiped her hair out of her grey eyes, glanced at the crib standing against the wall, and said, rather conversationally, "How is your wife?"

Gideon was sure his emotions escaped him because Narcissa raised her eyebrows. She had sprung the question on him and caught him off guard. This missing report had not been floating in the papers. Although Annette was not a member of the Order, Dumbledore and Mad-Eye had insisted that this be kept secret, and Frank Longbottom headed the investigation, covering their tracks. The officials who Gideon had run to in a panic had apparently assumed that he had lost his cool for a moment and found his wife. Gideon had reason to believe that Narcissa knew nothing, for her husband might have kept her in the dark.

"She's well," he said shortly, inventing an excuse. "She's on h-holiday in France, in M-Marseille visiting her grandfather."

"Is that wise?" Narcissa nodded at the crib.

"No, not really, but she needed to get out of the house, and they miss her, too.," Gideon curbed his rambling when she encouraged him with a cold smile. "How's your husband?"

"Well." She threw his vague answer back in his face.

Gideon stared at her. It was a strange feeling indeed that whilst his wife had disappeared, Annette wasn't the one who he'd longed to have in his bed at night. Narcissa was an attractive woman, but it wasn't her beauty that he drew him in. Truth be told, the woman had married into enough gold that she could realistically be whoever she wanted. He missed Annette's company, and he loved her deeply, and yet, this woman was like a refreshing drink.

"Mr. Prewett." She waited until Gideon met her eyes. She had been talking, and her lips had been moving, yet he hadn't caught a word. She patted the empty spot beside her and the dog wandered off to someplace else.

"Tea?" Gideon stayed, rooted on the spot. He sat beside her when she shook her head, surrendering like an eager puppy. When she took his hand, he leaned in and kissed her. Then he thought better and tried weakly to sway her…and himself. "Maybe you should go."

"No." Narcissa rested her hand on his leg, which made it really hard for him to think straight. "Tell me about the Madame. There are rumours in certain circles that she's left you."

"No, no, she loves me and I love her," he said quickly. Their marriage had never before sparked interest in the magical community; they were just another couple. He laughed shakily, though he felt sure that his reaction didn't go off as nonchalantly as he'd planned. "We are fine. She's ... she's just on holiday. I would have gone with her, but I'm anchored down with work and René ..."

"Isn't too pleased with you?" she guessed, reading his expression. Narcissa got dangerously close.

"How do you know?" he demanded, suddenly harsh.

"I know nothing," Narcissa said innocently, playing with him. "Do you miss me, Mr. Prewett?"

"Ah. Don't." He took her hand. "I am a married man, and you've a husband at home, Madam."

"What if I could offer you something?" she asked, waiting until he got to his feet and headed towards the staircase. Gideon put his hand on the banister. "Let's say I overheard some news that may interest you about Madame Marceau."

She reached inside her robes and took out a jewellery box. She opened it and showed him a silver pair of dangling ruby earrings. "Ah. They look familiar? Weren't they crafted by her grandmother's hand?"

"Where the hell did you get those?" Gideon strode back to her and made to snatch them away from her. Narcissa slapped his hand away. "She was wearing those the night ..."

Narcissa waited for him to continue, and when he shut up, she rolled her eyes and got to her feet. She held his face in her hands. "Don't play me as a stupid woman, dear. You don't love her." 

"What do you want?" Gideon, struck by an idea, reached in his pocket and handed her a colourful pouch full of Galleons. He let her wrap her hands around his neck and kiss him. "Narcissa."

"You take me for a whore?" She laughed softly and turned his gold away. "You think I can't do better? You are nothing. What? A translator with a refined tongue? You are nothing to me, you desperate fool."

"You found me," he pointed out, kissing her neck. "What will it take? We both know you and your husband aren't exactly faithful to each other, either, so you'll forgive me if I don't see where or why you're placing the fault here. Walk right out that door, if that's what you want."

He played this game with one thought driving through his mind; he'd get his wife back one way or another, morals be damned. He'd actually considered giving Narcissa the benefit of the doubt; chances were, though they were slim, her husband could have kept her in the dark. Gideon had no evidence to back this up, but he felt in his heart that Narcissa was no Death Eater. True, like her sister, she probably lived by the beliefs of this pure-blood mania. He could throw her out and forget the whole thing. She'd be angry because there would be no shoulder to cry on or someone to keep her company for the night. Gideon, who was never one to pass up opportunity when it came knocking, realised he had an advantage.

Gideon cleared his throat and switched tactics. He waved his wand and two crystal goblets and a bottle of deep red wine appeared. They said nothing for a while and he poured out healthy measures of wine.

"To love and to life," he said, toasting her. He'd always opened any toast in the same fashion. "Your husband knows how to get around and delegate the blame whilst he is unnoticed, I hear."

"Don't do that," Narcissa advised him as she nursed her drink. "Don't act like we're friends. You don't know me, and I don't want to know you."

No strings attached: it suited him well. "Do you want children?"

This was something he'd picked up from Auguste along the way. In order for you to get what you want, people have to like you, especially your competition. It was the only sure way of twisting a sharp knife. Taking advantage of a connection didn't reveal weakness; it prepared the dedicated ones for the chopping block. Common ground, however shaky, opened doors to read people and provided a weapon to use against them.

Her hated her, a stranger, and he despised himself to resorting to this.

"You're a fucking fool," he muttered to himself. Narcissa, thinking Gideon had insulted her, slapped him. Gideon picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around him as he played with her hair as she did whatever she pleased. Gideon closed his eyes, trying to strike up their conversation again, though it took him a good minute to remember why it mattered. "Don't you marry for an heir? Give him a son, maybe even a daughter, and after that, you cease to matter. A pawn."

"You want me to tell you I love you?" She laughed as he laid her down on the covers. "Is it fun anymore?"

Gideon slipped his hands underneath her robes and slipped off her undergarments and kissed her again and again, playing with her tongue. This was a twisted way of looking at things, yes, and he found it easier to pretend she was his wife.

"She taught you that," said Narcissa, as their lips parted. She spoke in a dead tone, so it was difficult to decipher how she felt. Apparently, Narcissa found the whole thing a joke because she laughed it off. "She hasn't let you touch her? Oh, and I bet you beg her like a pinning dog, and it took you long enough to figure it out."

"It's just sex, nothing more," he said, kicking off his shoes as she undressed him. "Where is she?"

Gideon thought he saw a flicker of panic, of doubt, cross her face, but he passed it off as a trick of the light. She mumbled a response he didn't catch, and Narcissa composed herself.

"Even if I knew, and I don't, perhaps you should be looking elsewhere," she said, irritated, "and tended to her needs. You're not as happy as you appear, you and Madame Marceau."

"You know something," he hissed through his teeth, moaning when she swayed her hips. Nobody had to know; they were alone. He locked her face in his hands and took a deep breath. "Tell me."

Frustrated, he rolled onto his side and tossed her things at her. Narcissa laid there, waiting, and when he didn't make a move, she sighed and got off of the couch. He stared at the wall and listened to her gather her things. An invisible calendar ticked off the running toll in his mind: twenty-nine days. Gideon knew in the back of his mind that Annette wouldn't last long without a defence. They'd kill her over nothing because she meant nothing; she, too, was a pawn.

Gideon closed his eyes, swallowed a lump in his throat, and offered a last plea when the door opened. "Narcissa, please."

"Lucius will be out tomorrow night." Her footsteps stopped as she froze. "Meet me at seventy-thirty. Come alone, unarmed. Do not keep me waiting."

center***/center

Gideon couldn't concentrate at work the next day. He showed up to get out of the house he'd had been knocking at the door with this deadline. Mr. Davies no longer granted him extensions because his patience had run dry. Gideon had submitted a request for when the baby arrived, which was why he had been stacking his leave, but Mr. Davies merely had to look at him and smile. It was almost as if the man tempted him, dared him to ask, and Gideon refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Sit down," Mr. Davies advised him. "You're pacing again, too, and it looks like your slipping into a nervous breakdown. I wouldn't think you'd take a double shift with your wife—"

"We're not talking about this," he said shortly, taking the coffee mug from his boss. "Thank you. Have you approved the proposal to Marseille?"

They weren't on good terms, and they spoke to each other only when it proved downright necessary. Mr. Davies's favourite page had abandoned him earlier that evening to attend a bachelorette party, and there weren't that many people scheduled on the night shift. Desperate for a little extra gold, Gideon had banked his success on this treaty because its agreement opened many doors in future; he'd seriously considered working with France as a liaison. Annette would have been closer to her family, for one thing, and he would have earned more. René's move had been a cold and callous one, but he had taught Gideon a good lesson: asking the page or the scribe to make copies saved lives.

"No." Mr. Davies glanced over Gideon's shoulder. Gideon melted blue wax over a flame when Mr. Davies snatched the parchment roll from underneath his nose. "This is shoddy work, Prewett; I'm surprised at you. A fifth revision that starts, 'Our friendship runs so deeply ...' I ask you."

Mr. Davies had suggested they fall back on old tactics in the first place. "But, sir, you said ..."

"Do it again," cut in Mr. Davies. "You sound like you're about to drop on one knee, and they'll just laugh at us. Merlin, he's your fucking brother-in-law. Get his signature."

"Auguste won't sign," said Gideon.

"So you're just giving up," said Mr. Davies, nodding. He started to walk away and backtracked, furious. "A year and a half of negotiations and drafts and promises, and you're throwing it all away? Just like that? If there is some personal thing going on between you two, I suggest you fix it. This isn't just your arse on the line—though, let me tell you, you're pushing it— it's me, it's Marceau, it's the government. You settle it, you grovel at his feet, and you do whatever–"

"It'll do no good to beg him," Gideon sighed, interrupting him. The personal and professional lines had been blurred since the day he'd invited Auguste's sister to a wedding years ago. At this point, those lines had erased themselves completely. "It's not that simple."

"Make it simple." Mr. Davies threw up his hands. "I've pages who spin better nonsense than you these days, and I don't let them put quill to parchment unless they copy down words from another's mouth. You were a successful page, too, which is why I let you head over to France for study. You meet contacts, Gideon, and you keep them happy and close. What's so hard to understand?"

"I did not marry his sister for an easy agreement," hissed Gideon, slamming his fist on the desk and causing blue ink to splatter everywhere. "France has been our trusted, unwavering ally for years. You want to get rid of me, sir?"

"I didn't say that," said Mr. Davies nervously, glancing around at the scribe sitting in the corner of the office.

Gideon had moved out of his cubicle a couple weeks ago and shared this place with his boss, for he'd been handed a promotion and they both shared the same rank. Gideon didn't want the supervisor responsibilities because he was good at weaving treaties. A team in France had been promised to him, though Gideon felt sure that meant mud now.

"Look at you. You walk in here dressed in a wrinkled shirt and trousers? What at you playing at? Merlin, you're better than me and you damn well know it."

Gideon bit his lip and nodded. There was no point in disguising the truth; he'd saved Mr. Davies's reputation in Barcelona, Marseille and Cairo. He'd even travelled to Salem, Massachusetts on a day's notice to cover up a grave mistake. Mr. Davies was at least thirty years his senior, and somehow, had managed to slither through these promotions by cascading through the minimum requirements. He'd handed Gideon free reign recently, and perhaps this was why: Mr. Davies had been deathly afraid of losing him.

"I'm not keeping a track record anymore, not a good one," Gideon confessed, sitting down. He truly felt sorry that he couldn't pinpoint his errors. "I've been looking around."

"Why?" Mr. Davies asked, taken aback.

"It's not you," said Gideon, holding up his hand. "I need a change of scenery, I think."

"You're tired of France," guessed Mr. Davies.

"And she tires of me," said Gideon with a sad smile. "I don't know. It's just Auguste and I are so alike, so in sync, that when we clash—and we do that all of the time;, you just don't see it—. It gets cruel. I can't do it anymore, sir. The whole family gets involved, and then there's Annette, and it's – it's bad."

Annette had discussed relocating hundreds of times. It usually was a far off dream that they placed somewhere in the distant future. If Gideon didn't get the okay from her first, it just wasn't going to happen. Yes, he'd have to leave his family behind. His nephews, and sister and brother were all here. Crossing the Channel was one thing. Moving across Europe or even to Africa, for he'd received offers from Cairo, Johannesburg and Jerusalem, was another thing altogether. Since Annette worked at an ice cream parlour, it really wasn't a sacrifice for her, except that she'd leave her family behind, too.

"What are three offers?" Mr. Davies dropped the row and opted to look at this realistically. He passed a hand over his face and pressed, "Three good ones, because I'm trying to figure out which directors I'm going to have to haggle with or knock off in order to get you back."

They both burst out laughing.

"Er, well, there's Cairo." Gideon grinned when the man rolled his eyes.

"The fucking desert?" Mr. Davies nodded and waved his hand, telling him to go on.

"Barcelona and Geneva," said Gideon apologetically, "and I've been on holiday there. Annette just loves it because there are French communities, and the moment I suggest either Zurich or Geneva, she's sold."

Mr. Davies looked as though he was trapped between disappointment and fear. When Gideon had first walked into the department, he had been a nobody. He owed a lot of that to both Edward Davies and Auguste Marceau; they had shaped him and pushed him towards a challenge.

"Your wife." Mr. Davies opened his desk drawer and took out a French newspaper. He nodded at the scribe, who inclined her head. "She translated this for me. Hasn't Madame Marceau left you?"

Gideon bit back a response and watched the scribe get to her feet and answer the door. Fabian poked his head inside and told the scribe that he'd wait. Before Mr. Davis dismissed him, Gideon gave a rushed apology and left the room. Fabian walked beside him in silence and followed him down corridors. They were on the fifth floor, and it was rather easy to find an empty conference room at this late hour. Gideon let him inside before he performed a Silencing Charm and bolted the door.

"I grabbed spaghetti at the eatery," said Fabian, tossing him a carrier bag. Gideon fished out plastic silverware and dug in. "You're starving yourself in there? We eat all the time."

"Transportation," Gideon grunted. "Well?"

"Did he sack you?" Fabian asked him. "You look like hell. Ever heard of a razor?"

Gideon took a bite out of a chunk of bread and waved it at him. "How is she?"

"Good, tired, but good," said Fabian, watching his expression. "I got past the house-elf, which was fine, but then Malfoy's wife kept looking at me, almost as if she knew I wasn't you, which was weird."

Gideon choked and gagged. He'd thought that he'd misunderstood him at first, but there was no mistaking that name. Fabian conjured a cup with cold water and walked over to hand it to him. Gideon spit into the bag and took a deep breath. She knew. Narcissa had looked him right in the eye and lied. That's why she had showed up while her husband was out. What if she had dropped some hint to make Fabian suspicious?

"Mould," Gideon invented wildly.

"That's ... nasty." Fabian gave him a sidelong glance before he continued. "Anyway, she wouldn't go away, so I kissed Annette, and Malfoy's wife got really pissed and stormed off. Sorry bout kissing Annie, by the way, she knew it was me. That's the first thing she said when I let her go."

Gideon smiled. When Fabian looked at him again, he said, "I tease her about choosing the wrong one all the time. She just laughs."

"Yeah, secretly, though, she wants me," added Fabian. He took that back a second later. "Nah, Annie would find a way to kill me or bore me with speaking French because I couldn't understand a damn word she says. 'What'd you say? Woman, give me a divorce so I can die in peace.'"

Gideon showed him a familiar hand gesture and chuckled when Fabian checked him with a double take. "No, Annette's not like that. You want to know what she thought of you when you two first met? Well, first off, Annette thought you were me, and it angered her when you didn't respond. She told me you asked her out again and again."

"She lies. That wrench!" Fabian dropped his pretence and a grin spread across his face. "Yeah, all right, whatever, so I flirted with her a little and chased her down the street. It all fell apart when I realised she'd caught every word. What can I say?"

"Annette said you talk too much and you pine after women," said Gideon, letting his brother prove his point, "but she enjoyed your pathetic act."

"Never liked her," he spat, mock angry and crossed his arms. "Get rid of her; find another. It's me or her, my friend. I let your happy wrench beat me at chess, and she took my watch."

"Did she now?" Gideon sat in one of the comfortable leather chairs. "Is she eating? Sleeping well? Getting exercise? Is she comfortable?"

Fabian nodded and answered all of Gideon's questions with patience. He looked tired, too, yet he, Fabian, was glad that he'd passed up a date with Marlene McKinnon to visit his sister-in-law. Gideon had struggled with letting his brother go in his place and was pleased that this had turned out to be a good decision. Gideon knew that he would have been unable to keep his composure the moment he'd stepped into that small room. This was no simple everyday negotiation; this was his life. If the Death Eaters had the slightest notion about the Order, he may have exposed them to get his family back.

Gideon finished his meal and lit a cigarette.

"It's not like they've locked her in a cold cellar or anything," said Fabian, "and I think Mrs. Malfoy made the arrangements because she told Annie that the house-elf would help her with anything she needed. We ate vegetable stew and bread for dinner. Not with her, of course, because she was annoyed, but it was a good meal. I waited till Annie fell asleep and slipped out before Lucius Malfoy returned."

Gideon nodded and blinked his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Fabian's face fell and the humour left his eyes. "She'll be fine. I took the treaty and burned it right in front of Narcissa Malfoy, just like Dumbledore said. The Death Eaters know that you'll compromise for nothing till you get your wife back. The treaty's null and void; France will not come to our aid. Did the Professor not fill you in on the finer parts? You did pour hours in that project for it to become mush, but it'll work out in the end."

"No, no," said Gideon, shaking his head and losing his cool. "It's all my fault. Don't you see? I did this. I – I slept with her."


	4. Chapter 4

Fabian just stood there. Gideon waited for his brother to speak, to say anything, and the silence deafened him. He, Gideon, would have jumped to his own defence in any other situation, but what could he say? Nothing. Deep down, even before he'd made a move on a married woman, Gideon knew it was wrong. No other woman had tempted him for the longest time, though he did catch an occasional glance or nod, yet he'd never dared to pay attention to these gestures. As a rule of thumb, Gideon admired from afar, and had, at least before Narcissa came along, never touched or entertained such thoughts. The confession felt better just rolling off his tongue like this. Gideon had to tell someone, to lift some of the weighty guilt off his conscience, and it might as well be his most trusted friend.

"It happens," said Gideon, barely keeping himself together.

Gideon was desperate to see eye to eye on this. He was a good man, Fabian, a loyal friend, but he went through women like nobody's business. Nervous, his hands shaking, Gideon lit another cigarette and thanked Merlin he wasn't speaking with Auguste. The Frenchman would have been his second confidant, of course, that is, if Gideon could have gotten two words out. Like him, Annette saw both Auguste and Fabian as her brothers. She had another brother, David, but as far as Gideon was concerned, that man never strayed far from his quiet life with his boyfriend and the restoration of the steeples of historical architecture.

"I don't know why," he continued, thinking that perhaps Fabian did not catch his words. Perhaps he had been thinking of something else. He cleared his throat loudly and flicked a few spent ashes off his cigarette, "and I feel awful. I can't stop thinking about it."

Gideon stopped short, not admitting that what he'd meant to say is that he couldn't stop thinking about her. Narcissa. Her hair, her voice, her perfume, her kiss: these thoughts flooded his mind, eclipsing his worries of his missing wife. Yes, he thought about Annette every waking moment, too, but as time passed, he felt less trapped by the depressing things he'd imagined. They'd find her. In fact, and here was the good news, they'd already found her at Malfoy Manor.

"Good." Fabian crossed his arms and met him with a cold stare. Gideon looked up, completely taken aback by his brother's unusual sharpness. Fabian didn't care. "You've lost your damn mind."

Gideon couldn't argue with that. "You don't understand–"

"—and you think I'm an idiot? Yes, Gideon, we all feel sorry for you whilst we're breaking our necks," said Fabian, throwing up his hands, "and Mad-Eye, and René, and especially Professor Dumbledore have given you space. What about them? If this were anyone else – Have you even bothered to tell Molly?"

Gideon shook his head and stared at the floor whilst he counted the dark tiles. "I can't."

"This is not about you." Fabian laughed humourlessly. "You are not me, so you don't get to act like me or blame me because I act the way I do. Don't you come at me with Marlene this or Marlene that. You're married – it's different. Annie has put up with you for a long, long time, and she's never dragged on about anything. Not even your sock thing, seeing as you have an issue about throwing your clothes in the hamper and leaving them in the wash. And the small rooms thing?"

"I'm claustrophobic," Gideon pointed out.

"And she's your wife," Fabian countered evenly, refusing to change the subject, "and I don't know much about women, but she's a good one, and if I had her, I'd kiss arse everyday because she – I love her. She's like my sister, and you know how I get when people talk about Molly. Gideon, she's put up with your shit forever. You've a house in Calais, so that you could spend holidays with her family and you don't even live there. And you've pushed her through all these kids – that's you, not her, stop looking at me like that – are you kidding me?"

Gideon had nothing but an ancient excuse to explain why he'd fallen for another woman. The fact that she was Narcissa Malfoy had nothing to do with it; she was just there. Had Mr. Davies's scribe pulled him into a private room, Gideon guessed he'd be in the same bind with her, too, because she had nice legs. He knew that he could never really know the answer to that question and it would be matrimonial suicide for him to jump on that offer, but that's how little his choice had mattered. Everything had gone along quite smoothly with Annette as long as they focused on each other and nobody else. This proved an impossible task because they lived with two families that both survived and thrived on catchy rumours and gossip. Nothing stayed private.

Yes, Gideon was wrong. Yes, he knew better and, yes, he'd suffer the consequences.

"So when René comes after you—"

"He already did," said Gideon. He conveniently left out that René didn't know the whole story.

"Ah. You're still standing without something strange sticking out of your ears?"

Fabian looked at him carefully as they walked towards the door. Anger rarely took him, and whenever it did, it was quickly spent. They walked out of the room and down the corridors. Gideon dared not ask why they strode right past the twelve fireplaces. Fabian waved at the security wizard and walked straight into a red telephone box. It was a tight fit indeed. Gideon, who was flattened against the window pane with the side of his face glued to the glass, decided he'd never take the Visitor's Entrance again. Fabian to reach over his head and muttered the correct numbers. The automated cool voice sounded like a crafty, smooth insult. An old man who read the paper by the ticket machines dropped his paper in a nearby puddle as he watched two grown idiots pull themselves out of a tiny box. Gideon, hoarse from screaming as the box shot through the air, had to have his brother pull him out and stood stock still, like a child learning to walk, as he took small steps. For the life of him, Gideon couldn't remember how he'd managed this with Annette just a couple of months ago. He leaned over and opened his mouth.

"Nasty." Fabian stepped carefully, avoiding the sick. "You've done this before."

"I hate you." Gideon gripped the bench that the old man was seating on and thanked him for a handkerchief as he watched the ticket taker devour paper.

"No problem. No, you keep it." The man shook his head and checked his watch. "What're you fools doing in that thing? It's outta order, and only one idiot needs to make a call."

"Thanks very much," said Gideon, distracted.

They walked for a while in silence and Gideon didn't worry about coming up with something clever on the way home. When they reached the familiar iron gate and the red door, he just stopped. A thin Frenchman appeared and started walking with a very pregnant woman by his side. He held her close and held a black umbrella over their heads. The man wore casual clothing and there was a simple black dress draped over the woman's frame; her hair fell down her back in a single plait. They had the same eyes. She had to stop at the lamppost after a few paces and catch her breath.

"What's she doing here?" asked Fabian.

Gideon gasped when somebody grabbed him from behind. Something brushed against his skin and he could tell that it was Narcissa, his late night visitor who always showed up unannounced. She led him through the gate into the courtyard garden and acted as though they were finishing up a night stroll. Gideon went pale and cursed himself when she pressed her cold lips to his neck and massaged his shoulders. He moaned. Annette and her brother, as luck would have it, saw the whole thing as they crossed the street.

"What the hell are you doing?" Auguste demanded, furious.

"No. No, Narcissa, no." Gideon untangled himself free from her and wished to wipe that hideous smirk off her beautiful features. "This is nothing."

That proved the wrong answer. Gideon got the air knocked out of him when Auguste lifted him off the ground and slammed him against the wall. His fist slammed Gideon's jaw as he came at him relentlessly , releasing his anger, hitting him again and again. After the first few blows, Gideon realised he couldn't fight against him. Fabian, luckily, jumped right in, trying to pull the man off, but Auguste had hit his stride and it was to no avail.

"Oh my God." Annette froze, stunned. Her pleas reached a screech and Fabian grabbed her, protecting her from harm. "Stop! Stop it right now, you fools! What are you doing? STOP!"

"I own you. Everything you are is because of me, Prewett, you hear me?" Auguste dropped his hand, taking short breaths. He punched the wall, his fury driving him, and felt no pain.

"No, no, Annette," Gideon pleaded with her as she walked right past them, and he took her by the arm. She refused to look at them; he spat blood onto the pavement. "Don't do this. It's not like that. Come on, Annette, Annie!"

Annette swung her arm back. "No."

Gideon stood there, dumbstruck.

"I'd do anything for you and you're–" Annette gestured wordlessly at Narcissa.

Auguste helped her up the staircase and the brothers followed them. Annette walked over to her dog and snatched things out of the armoire.

"Stop." Gideon took the bag from her and took her by the wrists. Auguste started muttering threats, too, which made things difficult. "Listen to me. You don't understand. LOOK AT ME!"

Annette turned towards him.

"I love you, Annette, I love you." Gideon gestured wildly at the open door. "Her? I don't know her."

"Really?" Auguste lacquered each syllable with sarcasm.

"Let me go." Annette picked up her things and packed the bag, speaking with her brother.

"Calais? No. You're overreacting. Come on!" Gideon cursed when she plucked her passport and birth certificate out of the fireproof box where they kept their documents and jewellery. "You're not in a right state to travel, so that's out of the question. Let me explain!"

"iLet me explain/i? Is that what you just said? You've no idea – Don't touch me." Annette backed away from him; she looked like a dead corpse, pale and drained. She tried to take off her wedding band, but her fingers were swollen. "Damn it. This is my family. My family."

"I did this for you and the—"

"She's my daughter! Mine." She handed her bag to Auguste and hugged Fabian, who tried to talk her down. "It's not your fault. It – it doesn't matter anymore. I'm just tired."

"Annie," said Fabian, stroking her face, trying to override her. "Don't do this, all right? This – no, this isn't about him. Please. If you run off to them, to René, I'll never see you again—"

"I need time," she said sadly, catching herself, "and I can't - I don't want to do this alone. Auguste."

"What?" Auguste looked at her, bored, and hurriedly rushed over to her and caught her, wrapping his arms around her. "Again? Sit down and relax because it'll pass." 

"—and she's my goddaughter, and you can't do this to me. You know why Gideon gets all of Molly's boys? He's eldest and he's helped her through tight spots. Who did I get? Danielle's mine. Look, I've named her, and she'll never know her cousins, or her mad uncle, and that's just not fair."

Annette sat down with her brother and took deep breaths. She raised a hand to silence Fabian. "Give me a moment."

"Why are you second-guessing?" asked Fabian, stung. "Auguste – no offense, mate – he's old. And Gideon's right about you leaving for France."

"I'm not," she said, quite certain. Auguste put a hand on her back.

"Good."Fabian clapped his hands, relieved.

"How long?" said Auguste, glancing at his watch. He sounded calm and helped her slip off her shoes and laid her back. "You want me to stay?"

Annette nodded. "Where's Papa?"

"Rene's teaching at school, so he's got classes all day," said Gideon, confused and scared. She knew that. "Why?"

"Because she asked you, fool! She's been like this since last night. Just get him," said Auguste, a little impatient, offering his sister his hand and pulling up a chair, "and brew some coffee, get some towels and blankets, too, because it'll be a long night."

center***/center

"You'll never sleep with him again," Auguste chuckled as Annette leaned against the pillows and he covered her legs. He picked up a bundle and spoke softly. "Yes, my wife said that the first time, too, and we have two boys. She lied."

Gideon laughed nervously as Auguste walked over to his sister."

"A little girl," Auguste whispered, kissing the child on the forehead as he handed her over. He laid her on Annette's chest. "Mèmè's going to spoil her. Spoiled rotten."

"Papa." Annette kissed Gideon when he walked over and sat on the foot of the bed. "I was calling the old man, but that works, too. Look. It's a girl."

"Yeah." Gideon gave her a watery smile. When Auguste and René got up to give them some privacy, he shook his head. "Stay. I'm sure Fabian'll—"

"Hey, where's my kid?" Fabian, who had probably been by the door, walked in without an invitation. "Look at my girl!"

"Your girl? We should've known that. Come here." Annette smiled weakly and handed over the baby. Fabian handled her like a porcelain doll, cradling her in his muscular arms and holding her to his chest, brushing her thick hair. Auguste slipped into the bathroom to wash. "Isn't she pretty?"

"I could do with another one," said Fabian, laughing when Annette sighed. "What? She needs a sister or a brother, or both, to have someone to pick on. "Isn't that right, Elisabeth?"

"We dropped Danielle," Annette explained.

"Yeah, we covered it whilst she was taking a break from screaming," said Fabian. "You look like hell."

"I hate you," she said.

"No, you hate him," he corrected her, jabbing a finger at his brother. "Elisabeth Renée Marceau, yeah?"

They nodded.

He gave it one last shot. "Why not Prewett? You tired of me, Annie? You hurt?"

"Yes. It hurts to move and breathing hurts," she confessed, closing her eyes. "Gideon?"

He hadn't realised he'd started pacing again. He'd been staring at Elisabeth and he didn't want to touch her because his hands were shaking so badly. His head felt awful, like a nagging gesture, like nicotine tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. She was a tiny thing, mostly covered by blankets. Her skin flushed with colour and she waved her arm around. He'd dreamed of this moment over and over again, and now that it had finally arrived, and she was well, it felt rather anticlimactic. Elisabeth's sounds climbed slowly to a cry, and Annette took her as she unhooked her nightshirt.

"Have a smoke," she suggested, shooing him away after the family.

"Thanks," he said, relieved, and left the front door open.

"'Thanks.' Like she doesn't know you," Fabian scoffed, after him outside and closing the door. In one fluid movement René, Auguste and Gideon all lit cigarettes. "I feel like the minority. Of course, you all exhale enough of that stuff for me to get a hit."

"'Ere." René shook a packet at him, offering him one.

"Hell, nah." Fabian burst out laughing. "You're a professor!"

"Not yours," René sighed, shrugging. He pocketed his smokes and nodded at Gideon. "Auguste got you hooked? Go ahead. Jacqueline and blame 'im for everything, too. The weather. The laundry."

"The currency rate?" Auguste grinned at his grandfather. "You got your girl."

"'Bout time, too. I was about to go to Celeste and ask her to trick you into knocking her up again." René pretended that he'd spoken out of turn. "Did I say that out loud? Use protection; it saves lives."

"iVous avez tort/i," said Auguste, smiling at Fabian. "It explains a lot, actually. No, monsieur, I'm finished raising little ones, thank you, but I'll pass. What say you, Gideon?"

"Piss off. Would you like that in French?" Gideon spent the rest of his smoke and answered him with a hand gesture as he headed back inside and slammed the door on their laughing fit. Annette looked up at him, rubbing Elisabeth as she slept on her chest. "Your brother's being your brother, that's all."

"What's that?" Annette turned her head at the window.

"Dunno," said Gideon, getting the latch and letting three handsome owls inside. Two carried a basket in between them, and one held out its leg, offering him Gideon a letter, which he took, and they flew off into the night. A grey owl dropped its rectangular black box and followed them. Gideon slit open the letter with the tip of his wand and read through it. "Oh, that's nice. This is from Dumbledore; he says you can read this when you feel up to it. Congratulations."

"Papa must have told him," she said.

"Hmmm." Gideon turned his back to her and slid the fine black ribbon off of the other parcel and caught a whiff of a familiar scent. He opened the box and glimpsed at a bottle of cologne wrapped in a delicate green shawl. He stuck his two fingers inside and pulled out a tiny scroll:

i If it pleases you, sir./i

"What's that?" Annette raised her voice an octave, for she'd asked this three times.

"This? Oh, this," he said, pulling himself out of a fantasy and stowing it in this robes. "N-nothing, it's not – nothing. She – I'll read it later. How're you feeling? Want something to drink? Good."

He didn't bother waiting for an answer and hurried into the kitchen. He put on the kettle and tapped it with his wand. He paced around, burying his face in his hands. He saw flashes of colour and vivid memories flooded his mind, entertaining him. He took out the shawl and laced it through his fingers; it was lacquered with the cologne as if someone had washed it in the fragrance, but he caught a woman's scent, not his wife's mixed with it, too.

"Gideon?"

"Shit." Gideon burned his hand on the range when water boiled over. "Shit!"

"Gideon, love?" Annette sounded worried.

"Everything's fine. Coming." Gideon wiped up the mess with a dishrag, left it on the counter, hid the gift, and poured two cups of tea and crushed, stale biscuits before he washed his hands. He walked back in the sitting room and set e tray on the other side of the bed. "I think the others left for breakfast, and this isn't a proper one. You want something else? I'll put her in the crib."

"No. It's all right." She nibbled on the biscuits and forced them down without a complaint. She'd check the expiration date later. "Pip should have gone with them. He bit Auguste earlier because he thought that Auguste had hurt me. Did you see his leg?"

Gideon hadn't noticed. "He bit me, too, and if he keeps doing that, he's got to go."

Annette nodded. She watched the dog stroll over and sniff the sleeping infant. Gideon held Pip by the collar just in case. Pip cocked his head to the side when Elisabeth whimpered and jerked her arm. "He doesn't know what she is."

"He's jealous," said Gideon, scooping Elisabeth up. "My draft was due at midnight last night. I forgot."

"Do you care?"

"Nope, not really," said Gideon, kissing Elisabeth's tiny hand. "I like angering him because it's a good pastime, you know."

"Like football?" Annette pulled the covers up and took her teabag out.

"The man doesn't know how to argue," said Gideon, looking around for his briefcase, "and that's a shame, considering he's the head of the department and all, and we, usually me, take the punches in his fights. He told me I'd be a better man for his office."

"He said that?" Annette put her head down and closed her eyes.

"Well, not in those exact words, but yeah," said Gideon. He didn't want to go into work and avoided looking at the clock, waiting until the last minute. By that time, they had returned, and he'd mentally run through all his possible excuses. Mr. Davies wouldn't hear a word of it. Gideon pulled on his favourite old coat, one displaying the French flag. He appealed to Auguste, throwing in his moot point, grinning, "You want to piss off Davies for a day?"

"I'd rather de-gnome a garden," said Auguste, lost in his own work. "I hate that twisted bastard, and besides, I just delivered my niece. You owe me. I like your representation, though."

"True. Fabian?"

"Get you to work, pretty French boy," he said.

"Yeah, yeah." Gideon kissed Elisabeth's head. "iJoyeux anniversaire, mon Elisabeth Renée/i. I'll be back around nine." He kissed Annette. "We're working with her with both languages, right? You promised."

"iOui, monsieur/i," said Annette, kissing him back. "I love you."

"Not fair," Fabian protested, helping himself to Annette's cup. "Leaving her godfather in the dark."

center***/center

Two weeks later, Gideon watched the old grandfather clock, wishing this meeting would just end due to dead subjects. Work had murdered him, especially Davies, so he sat back in the chair and scribbled notes on a piece of parchment and listened to Edgar debate with old Benjy about nothing. He'd invited Annette along because he felt uncomfortable leaving her alone and Fabian had flat out refused to call off another date with Marlene to play babysitter.

"You want this bastard back?" Benjy nudged Gideon after Dumbledore adjourned the meeting and Edgar collected notes. When Peter looked at him, he shrugged it off. "What? They shit and sleep. What else are they good for? I've been through this."

"You've got kids?" Peter asked.

Benjy actually crossed himself as he stuffed his pipe. "Do not wish such evils upon me."

"Jacqueline talks about nothing else but her," said Dumbledore, drying his hands and taking Elisabeth. "You ought to read my letters. Hello, my Elisabeth. She looks just like Marianne. Yes, she's beautiful."

Annette thanked him quietly. None of them had seen the professor with a tiny human before and the conversation died down a little as they all watched him walk around with her. Edgar, who worked as a freelance photographer had carted his equipment along after a busy night. He often worked with Benjy, a well-known writer for the iProphet/i, and they always sat together during these meetings. Earlier that night, they'd taken shots of the Order; Annette had shot the majority of the frames when she'd put Elisabeth in the pram or handed her off to someone else. One of the young ladies took the camera, giggling when Edgar tried to snatch it and took her drink instead, and started taking photographs of Professor Dumbledore; he paid her no attention.

"Are you going with us to Marseille in June?" Annette asked.

"René insists that we start another project," said Dumbledore, "and Jacqueline signed my name. How'd I find that out? There's an interesting piece in iTransfiguration Today/i on international academia, and, apparently, I suggested it. We don't know what we're doing."

A few people laughed. Gideon didn't think that was legal, but he started to understand why Jacqueline always got her way. This was a disguised excuse for them to spent time together and for Professor Dumbledore to be bothered by fewer owls whilst he enjoyed holiday with his friends. Of course, this was wishful thinking because he'd undoubtedly be pulled into other matters. They would honestly set the groundwork for their research; when these three old friends got together, they couldn't help but do what came natural to them.

"Nicolas wants to meet this child," Dumbledore said, smiling.

"Really?" Annette seemed to be the only one who understood what Dumbledore talked about. A second later, she pulled a face and acted wary, second guessing the request. "Why?"

Dumbledore laughed softly. "Sometimes, you remind me of Jacqueline."

"Is that a compliment?" Annette shared in his joke and finally looked away from Peter; she'd been staring at him ever since they'd arrived.

She took Elisabeth and escaped into the tiny bathroom. Chances were, especially with Elisabeth in tow, Gideon and she wouldn't stay in France the whole holiday. Gideon simply couldn't afford it, and he had to make a relocation decision soon. He'd casually mentioned that to Annette over their evening coffee one night last week. She shrugged it off, and he'd started pulling out cardboard boxes and packing up things they'd never used; trinkets lay around and collected dust. He hadn't bothered seriously reading through any contracts, and Fabian hadn't taken the news seriously enough to start moving out and shacking up with his girlfriend.

"France is still on the table," said Dumbledore, striking up a conversation as he waved good night to Mad-Eye and Edgar. When Gideon answered him with a sceptical look and pulled a face, he pressed on, "Auguste's mood changes faster than a woman's, and you work well with him. He's pleased now."

"For Elisabeth." Gideon hardly thought that counted.

"He'll need you," said Dumbledore, sounding as if he'd guessed more than Gideon was willing to confess, "and you're family, so his anger will wan, and Auguste will forgive you. We all make mistakes."

"Yeah, well," whispered Gideon, shaking his head. Dumbledore had never messed up like this. "We'll see, but personally, sir, I'm waiting for him to corner me and kick my arse. Sorry."

Dumbledore didn't bother denying it. "He'll offer you a hand afterwards. Go to him."

"Beg him? No." Gideon reached for a half-empty tankard and finished the drink and nodded at Annette. "I did this, and I'll be damned if I don't get myself out of it. Auguste can come after me; I deserve it. Professor, please don't tell Jacqueline. I-Il – I'll beg her for mercy when I'm ready. Not today."

"What would I tell her?" He acted as though he hadn't heard a word, and pulled it off with ease. Dumbledore clapped Gideon on the shoulder and handed him a travelling cloak. "Get some sleep. Get her home safely."

"She is a beautiful girl," said Peter.

"Oh, well," said Gideon, who rather liked this quiet kid. "Would you like to hold her?"

"No, I –"

"No!" Annette drowned his petty answer as she laced up her blouse and held Elisabeth to her body. Colour washed from her features, and went pale, frightened. "Take me home, please."

"She's fine," Gideon said mildly. Annette, instantly angry, hissed an insult in her native tongue, one so nasty, not even Gideon would repeat it. Annette wasn't hearing any of it; when Peter opened his arms, she took Elisabeth, snatched her pocketbook of the back of a chair, toppling it over and headed towards the door, leaving Gideon staring after her. Benjy filled the silence with his barking laugh. "I can't believe she just did that. She's lost her mind— she'd didn't mean it, mate, all things aside – Madame!"

Gideon rushed out of the door and caught up with her. "Do you care to explain that? I know you're off the wall with this kid and not in a right state, but I'm ready to offer you a bar of soap to wash that out. What's with you? What's that kid ever done to you?"

"I don't Elisabeth around these people," she said, crying when Gideon rolled his eyes. She'd woken the baby and glanced down at her damp shirt. Gideon walked a short distance with her and stopped at a weathered bench outside a park. Lily and Peter walked past when Annette started feeding, and Gideon shrugged off his cloak and draped it over his wife as he waved them away. "You don't – I don't know any of them, except Albus, and we never know what can happen—"

"—when I'm right there?" added Gideon, raising his eyebrows. "Don't be the paranoid parent, please, because you'll ruin her life, you really will, trapping her like this."

"You were right there last time." Annette wiped her tears away and leaned her head back.

Gideon said nothing to that and reached in his pocket for a cigarette; the parcel was empty.

"How long?" Annette spoke slowly, not wanting to hear the answer. "How long have you been with her? You love her."

Gideon, thinking this was about him waving good-bye to Lily, bit his tongue and realised it was about another woman. "No. I've told you it was nothing. Nothing. I love only you and Elisabeth."

"You're lying."

"If you want to see it that way—"

"The way you look at her, you haven't looked at me like that in ages," she said, jealous, "and I can't think of anyone but her. Wishing I was her – but, no, I'm this dripping cow and feel awful. If it weren't for Elisabeth, you wouldn't glance at me. You come home, and you spend time with her and you go to bed."

"That's not—"

"You want her?"

"N-no." Gideon faltered, cursing himself. Annette hooked her blouse. "Please. I'm sorry. I don't know happened. I love you. I want to love you – I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry you got caught," she said, getting up and wrapping the cloak around her and turning away from him when he tried to kiss her. "I'm your whet nurse. What happened?"


End file.
